I
was on vacation a couple weeks back and went to my favorite place, Martha’s
Vineyard. I enjoyed spending time with my wife and daughter, my in-laws, and a
few cousins, aunts and uncles. Unfortunately, my son couldn’t make it due to
his work schedule and I missed having him there with us. Despite him not being
with us, it was a great week and brought back some memories for me.
Coming
over to the island on the ferry, there were a lot of families with young kids
and I couldn’t help but think back to when my kids were little and we made the
trek over. Both my kids loved being on the boat and we’d either be outside or
right next to a window. We’d watch the seagulls floating on the air, keeping
pace with the boat and swooping in and grabbing a snack from a passenger’s
outstretched hand. We’d talk about what we were going to do, which always
included the beach, ice cream, and The Flying Horses. Those were some great
times.
My
wife and I walked up town our first evening there and got an ice cream. There’s
nothing like an ice cream on a summer day. It made me think of my childhood and
how special a treat it was to pile all the kids in the car, go for a cool off
ride, and get an ice cream at the end. Even if our hands and arms were sticky
with melted ice cream, it was worth the two hours or so of cooling off before
we went back to the house where the only air conditioning was open windows and
a big blue fan. Those were also some great times.
As
I sat waiting for the fireworks to start on the 4th of July, I was
like a little kid, sitting and fidgeting, wondering why it was taking so long
to start. When I was a kid, the town had our fireworks at the Little League
fields. We’d walk up as a family, set out a blanket and wait what seemed like
an eternity, and finally get to see them. It always seemed like it was too
short a time for how long we waited. At some point, they stopped shooting off
the fireworks in our town, probably realizing that it wasn’t safe enough where
they were doing it. Those were some great times, too.
For
the most part, I spent the week without shoes on. As soon as I got to the
house, I pulled off the sneakers and socks and just let my feet breathe. It
felt so good to go outside and feel the grass between my toes and be in direct
contact with the ground. I had to put something on my feet to walk places, but
that was it. It reminded me of being a kid and fighting with Mom because she
wanted us to always have something on our feet and we didn’t want to. Running
around in the yard, why would we need sneakers on? Playing wiffle ball in the
yard, who needs sneakers? I knew I could run faster with bare feet. Just
sitting around in the shade in our front yard and reading comic books certainly
didn’t require something on our feet. Maybe Mom just hated having to clean our
dirty feet after a fun day. Those were some really great times.
Vacation
is over and it’s back to the real world, but I’ve been trying to go barefoot a
little more than I was. I’m going to enjoy it as long as I can because in a few
months we’ll have to be wearing socks and shoes, or sneakers, or (gasp) boots.
By then my week in paradise will be but a distant memory, but I’ll have some
happy feet. And some more great memories.
