While he splashed in his pool, I remembered vividly being a kid myself, splashing around in our cold tub with my siblings while making up stupid games. I remembered the ice cream truck and roller blading and goofy shorts-and-tank-top combinations. I remembered putting the sprinkler under the trampoline and trading cards on the front lawn and losing to my dad over and over again at croquet. I remembered camping out in the back yard and swatting away flies while we ate dinner on the deck. I remembered swindling at our garage sale and going to the Sumner Arts festival and Neighborhood Bible Time.
“Over here, mom!”
After drying off, he kicks back and watches some TV with his apple juice
I had a great childhood. The best. I want to talk to my adult son one day and hear him say the same thing. We will have different experiences, of course. He lives in a different place and will most likely go to public school and won’t have as many siblings. But even though different than the childhood I knew, I will try my damnedest to make him happy. I will play with him and buy him a trampoline and even birth another child to give him a sibling. I will take him to the park and play croquet with him and buy him ice cream from the overpriced ice cream truck. I will run through the sprinkler with him, even if it’s in the front yard and I’m self-conscious in a swim suit.
This is his “say cheese” face
Summer is for kids. For them to play and run around and stay up late. Ah, the freedom of summer. It will never mean to adults what it does to kids. Thankfully, I have a kid to remind me of what it felt like.