Posted by: Ofer Aronskind | July 4, 2009

The quiet days of summer

Wow is it quiet at my house. With all three kids gone for the next month, I walk into a house that is noise free.  There is no fighting, no running around, no ball playing in the house, no chasing the dog around with a rat tail.  I have the house to myself.  I have the remote and full control of the TV to myself.  I can read the paper, watch a movie, entertain anyone I please.  The house is mine.  But, of course, my mind can’t help but wander to thoughts of my kids and what they are up to at that exact moment.  It may be cliche, but there’s a reason for it — it’s true.

My dog Sammy cuddles up to me as I kick back with the paper and CNN in the background. She senses my meloncholy mood and tries to compensate.  Dogs can be that way.  After about a half hour I can take no more.  I grab Sammy’s leash and the car keys and head down to Target.  Sammy waits in the car while I walk the aisles throwing into my cart packets of baseball cards, comic books, crossword puzzles, yo-yo’s, water guns, an assortment of my kids favorite snacks and candies and anything else I can think of.  Of course, everything is in groups of three.  Sammy and I race over to our local Mail Boxes, Etc. and put together three huge care packages.  My buddy Dan helps us pack everything up and within minutes the packages are on their way north to camp.  I go home and although the house is just as quiet I find comfort in picturing the look on my kids faces when they open up the boxes and find the goodies.  Just like in my books: Summer Sleep-away.and its sequel, That Same Summer. I can see my kids being elevated to star status with the opening of their care packages.  Their bunkmates jumping all over them begging for food or comics.  And although Dad is the furthest thing from their minds at that moment, somewhere in the deepest recesses of their sub conscience, it registers.  And, at that moment, a little piece of Dad is up there with them in that tightly packed care package from home.

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