What I Learned
on Summer Vacation
I walk down to the lake at the end of my street,
flip flops snapping lightly at my heels, carefully carrying
two full glasses of ice water ... one for myself and one for
my son. It’s another scorching hot summer day. Shimmering heat
waves are rising off the asphalt and I am grateful when, at
last, I step off the road and onto the grass that surrounds
the lake.
Although it is only 10 o’clock in the morning,
he has been at the lake for hours. My child is a confirmed fisherman.
No lake is too big, nor puddle too small, to throw in a line,
hook and wriggling worm.
Charlie is standing, facing the lake. He takes
a few sips of water and hands the glass back to me. His eyes
never leave the fishing line stretched from the tip of his pole
to the surface of the lake. I move over to a small patch of
shade and sit on a tree stump to watch.
His hair is damp and small beads of sweat are
running down the sides of his face. His concentration is absolute.
Eyes squinting against the bright sun, he’s motionless, hardly
breathing. I’m struck by his ability to stand like this for
so long and amused by his certainty that he will indeed catch
a fish. Looking up at him from my seat on the tree stump, he
seems much older to me and I have a glimpse of the man he will
grow up to be. I am content to just sit and watch him.
Earlier today I had reminded Charlie that school
would be starting in a few weeks and I began to recite a list
of things we need to do: get a haircut, buy a new lunch box,
perhaps we would review the multiplication table ... that would
impress the new teacher!
All the while, he’s quietly digging up earthworms
from under our azalea bushes, really big, fat worms that he
has been cultivating all summer for fishing. I think the words
“multiplication table” got his attention. He looked at me with
something akin to pity.
Have I really forgotten what it is like to be
ten years old with the entire summer laid out before me like
glittering pirate’s treasure? How could I forget the joys and
pleasures of a child’s summer vacation? It must have happened
slowly over the years, replaced by the responsibilities of adult
life.
Sitting there by the lake, watching Charlie
fish, memories begin flowing back to me of those carefree summer
days ... memories of running barefoot in the grass, and catching
fireflies in old mason jars borrowed from my grandmother’s kitchen.
Memories of melting popsicles, sunburned noses and going to
the drive-in movies on a hot summer’s night with my family ...
all of us children dressed in our pajamas.
It’s a while before I hear Charlie calling me
... ”Mom. Mom! Do we have to go home now?” Roused from my reminiscences,
I smile and say, “No, we don’t have to go home.”
We are right where we are supposed to be, learning
about raising earthworms and about tadpoles in the shallows
transforming into little frogs ... learning about ourselves
and about each other.
“No, let’s stay a while longer. Will you teach
me how to cast with your new fishing pole?”
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