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Jewish World Review August 17, 2006 / 23 Menachem-Av, 5766 This is the summer of our content By Karen Heller
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com | Every hour or so, publicists send besieged scribes mosquito-like missives about some inane product forcibly tied to a minor holiday, such as a nifty kitchen cleanser or birthing spa therapy that's ideal for Labor Day. You think I jest. I do not. These vexations serve a purpose. They're reminders that the seismic events in a lifetime, the milestones that matter, are rarely celebrated or honored accordingly. The moment a teenager starts driving without an adult present is huge, as is the moment years later when the adult gets said teenager off the insurance policy. The day braces are detached from teeth is a festival of unalloyed joy for an adolescent, as well as for the parents who can excise the orthodontist from the monthly payroll. As big as a child's first few birthdays may be, and they're huge, little compares to that exquisite hour when her mother never, ever, ever again has to scour the region for a store open in the middle of the night selling disposable diapers. Historically, this hallowed event has been shamefully overlooked. It needs to be celebrated in the same manner as, say, a coronation or the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. Confetti should be involved, as well as noisemakers, cameras, a marching band, and an aging television personality with astonishing hair. Imprinted in my memory, though not for the obvious reasons, is the day I returned to work after the birth of our first child. The sitter was on the clock. At the end of the day, I picked up my husband at his office. Turning to me, in some fog of denial, he asked, "So, where do you want to eat tonight?" I shook my head dolorously. Possibly, I sighed. "Oh, honey," I said, "those days are sooo over." Now, a mere 12 years later, long after I dared to dream, I'm happy to report that those days are sooo back. In some divine act of providence, both children are at overnight camp at precisely the same time for 12 sublime days and nights. Sure, we're subsidizing this harmonic convergence, but sometimes you need to throw money at a situation to create your destiny. Years ago, when I was young and infallible, a colleague told me that the high point of his summer, indeed the only point of his summer, was shipping his children to camp. He was ancient, old as Methuselah, like 40 or something, and delirious. How sad, I thought at the time, how terribly sad. But now, I get it! I mean, I absolutely get it. My husband looks at this occurrence, a magnificent ocean of white on the calendar free of soccer practices and dentist appointments, and asks, panting like a sailor on shore leave, "So where do you think we should go? New York? Ephrata? Marrakech? And I'm thinking, we don't have to go anywhere. We can have our own camp right in our house, Camp Kidsaway, without the bugs, bug juice or color wars. Our camp will be a nag-free zone, with no whining whatsoever. Laundry will diminish. Objects will be found where they were last left. There will be no chauffeuring, driving to pick up questionable snacks, Archie comic books, Mad magazines, or Wilson Brothers movies. We will not squander this occasion. We will revel. At Camp Kidsaway, we will go out every night no matter how tired we are. The stove will go untouched. We will eat my favorite cuisine: other people's cooking. We will hear music. We will see every movie, regardless of quality, that has subtitles or plenty of talking and is devoid of car crashes and Wilson Brothers. As much as we love our little darlings, and we do, we do, this is our seismic event, a milestone that matters, and it is going to be celebrated and honored accordingly. Every weekday JewishWorldReview.com publishes what many in in the media and Washington consider "must-reading". Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here.
Karen Heller is a columnist for Philadelphia Inquirer. Comment by clicking here. © 2006, The Philadelphia Inquirer Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services. |
Arnold Ahlert | |||||||||||
