About eight years ago on a stunning and celestial Easter Sunday afternoon (pardon the pun), in the middle of my annual two-week gig at Jokers Wild, I was sitting on the patio of my villa at the Atlantis Paradise Island. This was when Sol Kerzner and Sun International owned the place — it has been sold about 14 times since and is now owned and run by Marriott — and comedians would work the front desk personnel and get rooms like this. I always tried to get this one. That, yes, is the Atlantic in the foreground. My son’s ashes, as I mentioned last week, are out there.
I don’t like the ocean, never get in it, and don’t particularly like the beach or the sand, but I do like knowing they’re there when I open the blinds in the morning. Melissa, who also fears jellyfish and sharks and undertow and oil spills and sharp seashells, came one year and we decided to face our fears. She stood in the sand, I took her picture, and she said, “OK, we did it. Let’s go.”
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