We Only Have 18 Summers

As we live in an area that (for the most part) experiences all four seasons, there are subsequently what I like to call the Four Seasons of the Internet. The same themes tend to emerge corresponding with the time of year. Once there is any hint of summer approaching, we begin to see the following pop up on our digital devices: so ready for school to end/what to do with your kids on summer break that won’t break the bank/give your kids a 1970s, 1980s, 1990s summer/don’t look at your phone at the park/look at your phone at the park because it is your break too/where to go on vacation/no, you should do a staycation.

I have personally watched the same ideas, articles, and memes circulate no less than the past almost nine years of my life. Approximately the same amount of time I have been a parent.

So, my personal favorite is the following: we only have eighteen summers.

I used to lose sleep over this one. Really, I did. How can I cram all of the goodness that one child has to experience in only eighteen summers? Will they be fed enough hot dogs, ice cream, and slather on enough sunscreen? If I do not take them to enough events, splash pads, and overnight stays at exotic locales that we cannot afford, have I failed them as a parent?

What about eighteen fall seasons? When do I introduce them to the pumpkin spice latte? So many questions, I almost forgot to look up from my phone at the park.

A few weekends ago, around Mother’s Day, we gathered at my brother’s house and grilled out and enjoyed my mother’s baked beans and my grandmother’s potato salad. As always, she critiqued her work, stating that the potatoes weren’t quite soft enough and there wasn’t enough salt. This is my 34th summer enjoying that delicious potato salad. This is her 82nd summer with us.

You see, there is no exact summer recipe. You can read all the articles until the end of time. Some of us will only have fifteen summers, while others will have 105. Some of us need more sun and salt, while others of us need to soften up a bit.

I am a firm believer that the memories that stick around are the rhythms that are repeated gently over time. The same swings at the park. The cookie recipe that tastes even better the next day. The donuts on Saturday mornings. The childhood nicknames. Riding in the back of the pickup truck down to the pond. Gran’s famous potato salad.

Life is sweet, regardless of season. Let’s pick out the juicy parts, and ignore the voices restricting our time. Yes, childhood is fleeting, but the closer we are now, the closer I’ll be to their kids when I am 82.