Remember when the summer as really all about swimming?
That’s what I remember. Every summer we would pack our bags and leave our great house and travel 15 minutes out of town to my grandfather’s bungalow colony, Oakwood Cottages, to spend the summer months in a tiny bungalow. As kids, we loved it. Camp with kids from the Bronx, a change of pace. Of course, by the middle of August we couldn’t wait to get back home, ready to return to our real lives.
My mom hated our summers at Oakwood. She was uprooted so that my dad, when he got home from a long work day would take care of our grandfather’s electrical needs. My dad could never say no. After all, it was his father. Not a very nice guy, my grandfather, but my dad was a good son and we came along.
Of course we did have access to the colony’s swimming pool and that was all I needed. But I always wanted more. Camp rules during the week, my mom’s rules on the weekends. If I could have I would have just lived in the water. I dreamed of being an adult.
I never understood why adults put on bathing suits but for the most part sat outside the pool and watched us having fun. But now, as an adult, I too remain on the side of pool. I bring along my Kindle and beach chair, stick my feet in the pool and read away. That’s enough for me!
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