A long, hot summer
When I was growing up, summer was an endless stretch of nothingness. There were no reading lists or science camps or enrichment activities. There was barely even adult supervision. We were like a pack of wild dogs tearing through the neighborhood, entertaining ourselves by running through the neighbor’s sprinkler or hanging upside-down from a tree or eating hot dogs straight from the can. We got in mud fights and plucked fat, juicy ticks off our dog and squashed them with bricks. I know, disgusting. Boredom makes you do strange things, but that’s my point. We were bored to death.
Fast-forward to now. My daughter’s summer vacation spanned two continents and garnered her 10,000 flight miles. She biked through Dutch fields and camped in the Appalachians and swam in the North Sea and the Atlantic. And she had exactly one free day at home. ONE.
Of course she wasn’t bored. She didn’t have time to be.
Back in my day, the first day of school was something to look forward to, a break from three straight months of lethargy. Not anymore. My daughter was exhausted before she even began.
Sure, she got to travel to fun, faraway, exotic places, but am I doing her any favors? Will she ever be able to entertain herself without a camp counselor, a tour guide, and an in-flight movie screen? I sure as heck hope so.
What do you think? Who had the better summer, me or my kids?