One of my favorite times to be at the water’s edge on the Vineyard is early in the morning. It’s a habit derived from my father’s need to stay out of the heat of the day.

My father, born in 1922, developed Type 1 diabetes at the age of five. He benefited from the groundbreaking work of Dr. Elliott P. Joslin for whom the Joslin Diabetes Center in Boston is named and received early insulin interventions. My father survived longer than most of his cohort group due to his disciplined nature and good genes. As a child he would go trick or treating at Halloween only to return home and give away all of his candy.

Our family life revolved around my father’s medical condition in many ways, from what and when we ate to our level of activity. Every morning at breakfast he gave himself a shot of insulin which was stored in the butter drawer in our refrigerator. On Saturdays he boiled his needles to sterilize them. As a fair-skinned Irishman, the sun was not his friend, and as a diabetic he had to be careful not to get dehydrated.

Growing up 15 minutes from Jones Beach on Long Island, N.Y., we had easy access to the beach. On any given weekend when the weather forecast was favorable we would get up by 6:30 a.m. and tumble into the car packed with a hibachi, a cooler, a thermos of coffee, and beach towels. By 7 a.m. we were ready for our first swim of the day. Sometimes we were greeted by fishermen heading home with their early morning catch, but otherwise the beach was ours.

After an hour of body surfing and jumping the waves we were starving. My father would light the grill, bring out the cast iron fry pan, and get to work. The picnic table was set and soon the smell of bacon and eggs filled the air as seagulls gathered to inspect our wares. We would toast English muffins over the coals. There was coffee for the parents and orange juice for the kids.

Slowly our solitude was broken as people flocked to the beach. Back in the 1960s, before most homes had air conditioning, people sought relief from the heat by filling the vast parking lots at Jones Beach that hold over 15,000 cars by 10 in the morning. We were the envy of those laden with lunch, umbrellas, and chairs planning on making a day of it as they passed our picnic table and smelled our food. For us the magic ended by 11 a.m. as we packed up and headed home out of the heat to rest. After showering we would siesta in the cool shade of the house. In the evening, we played flashlight tag and caught fireflies.

It wasn’t until I was much older that I came to appreciate the ritual of watching the sunset at the beach, switching from bacon and eggs to wine and cheese. Living on an Island again, Martha’s Vineyard, I love heading to the beach after a day of work with my book and chair as a way to unwind.

But at least once a year, I rally to honor my father by having breakfast at the beach. The menu is the same, but now I am in charge of the cast iron fry pan and packing the car. Although I am at a different beach, it’s the same ocean and the same wonderful aromas that delight my senses. I raise my coffee cup to salute the man who embraced life against difficult odds and taught me so much by his example.

Maggie Mulqueen lives in West Tisbury.