viola-002-colorSchool starts back up in ten days and I’ve been wondering what my sons are going to tell their friends, teachers, and whoever else asks what they did the entire break. In the past, they’ve picked out an event that usually surprises me. Despite the money we spend on our annual vacation, they always seem to remember a small experience that had impacted them somehow.

 

Needless to say, it doesn’t take an extravagant affair to make an impression on them when they’re younger. Honestly, what I remember from my childhood isn’t the money my family spent (or didn’t have the means to spend). It was the small stuff.

 

I’m raising my children in Colorado, but for the most part, I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona. The summers were HOT, to say the least. But as a child who needed fresh air and didn’t like being cramped up with my older brothers and sisters, I learned to deal with it.

 

My friends and I used our imagination on a daily basis and did things I don’t ever want my children doing. We walked or rode our bikes everywhere. In neighborhoods that weren’t exactly safe, we explored, we met interesting people, and we avoided the precarious people. Sometimes I sat back and proudly watched my bold friends tell off the precarious people. Why not? We were immortal. Nothing could hurt us that we couldn’t handle. (I guess you could call us tomboys…or just really naughty.)

 

Then, we made up stories about those people on the way home, only to realize we didn’t know how to get home. Oh boy. Those were the times to panic.

 

My mom is going to kill me if she ever reads this. Don’t worry, Mom! Nothing bad ever happened to us. We always found our way, and it gave us confidence. Maybe even some street smarts.

 

Some days, we would scrounge enough money to ride our bikes to the local convenience store to buy a soda and some candy. Other days, we went to the public pool and didn’t bother with sun block. Sun block? What’s that? One summer my best friend and I found an abandoned trailer in a vacant lot. We cleaned it out and made it our clubhouse. Then, one day, I stepped on a piece of glass that pierced through my flip flop and sliced off a quarter of my big toe. Our parents found out about the trailer after that and our fun there was over. Darn.

 

My big toe holds one of a few scars I’d acquired during my childhood. I have a story for each one of them. None of these memories required much or any money, and they are the things that stick out most from my childhood summers.

 

It’ll be interesting to see what my children remember in another ten or twenty years. I’m hoping their memories are a little safer than mine, but I also hope they have as much fun.

 

Is that too much to ask for four boys?? Safety and fun, while growing up? 

 

So tell me some of your favorite memories. Do you have a scar story to share? Go on. We won’t tell on you. Pinky swear.

 

Viola

www.violaestrella.com

 

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