Born and raised in Manhattan near the George Washington Bridge, I had never visited Coney Island until I was a young girl. My maternal grandfather’s cousin had settled near the boardwalk there with his family after arriving from Italy in the late Nineteenth Century. He had then helped my grandfather come to America, and the bond between them remained close all their lives. One summer day, my parents and I, along with other family members, were invited to visit them and spend the day at the beach in Coney Island. I was excited and curious, as I had never been to the ocean, only to lakes in New Jersey. After meeting and greeting the family at their home, we headed to the ocean. I vividly recall getting my first whiff of the way the air smelled so cool and salty. I had never smelled salt air before and it was an invigorating experience. There s nothing quite like it to a city girl, in my opinion. I breathed deeply as I mounted the board walk steps and took in my first view of the sandy beach and the ocean. It was actually hard to see the sand because there were so many blankets and striped umbrellas spread over it and it seemed like hordes of people milling about on it. I remember carefully stepping on the few inches of sand between each sunbather s blankets to a place on the beach where we could place our own. I was in awe of the waves that appeared so gigantic compared to my small size. Every once in a while, when the breeze was in the right direction, I got a whiff of something that smelled so delicious but I could not place what it was. As we were leaving that day, I saw a stand on the boardwalk with a machine that seemed to be whirling around as a pink froth appeared from nowhere and the man wound the froth around a cardboard stick. It was cotton candy, of course, and it was my first taste of the boardwalk treat.
