He would probably be happy in sports camps all summer. But I would not be happy organizing logistics and carpools.
I need to get in the car and drive away from home. I need to get on the freeway toward “Ocean Beaches” and arrive at ocean beaches. Not veer off at the next suburban exit.
I’m like the plastic disc on the end of the yo yo spinning off your fingertips. I love home most after I’ve gone careening away from it, only to get pulled back by its whiplash tug.
He turned nine this summer.
There is an imaginary milestone out there that says that nine gives kids more rational thinking and more independence and a feeling of control that helps the intense ones feel more like the world is theirs. Maybe they don’t have to fight it so much.
Just this week he started to learn how to yo-yo. So far it’s crashing down or coming halfway back up.
We’ll learn how to get the feel right together.