Galveston, Oh, Galveston

Last weekend, our family was walking down Seawall Boulevard in Galveston, looking like we had just stepped out of that website, Stuff White People Like.
Mike and the kids were outfitted in outdoor performance clothes and New Balance shoes, while I wore some heavy-duty Yoga wear. We were staying at our house by the water. Our daughters even have bangs, swept out of their eyes with large Texas bows.
While posing for this quintessential Galveston picture, a friendly resident photo-bombed us, making this my new favorite family picture.
I love the kids’ freaked-out smiles. I love that Pleasure Pier and beachcombers dot the landscape of the Gulf.
But mostly I love the expression on my face.
If says, “Thank you, kind Galveston local, for having some fun with our family. I’m from here, and I still feel like a local, but Galvestonians don’t treat me like one. They treat me like a tourist. Although, you were probably treating me like a tourist, too, there was something delightful about your photo-bomb. Twenty years ago, you and I would have been friends. We would have gone to high school together or worked together. We would have laughed together. I miss the friendly rebelliousness of Galveston’s locals, the inside jokes of Galvestonians. At the moment my husband snapped this picture, I was part of it again. So, thanks.”


    • Christina says

      Of course you did, soul sister. Only a beach-lover who comes home from a girlfriend getaway with dozens of pictures of the BEACH understands island love, right?

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