Nana’s Summer Camp

How on earth did it get to be August already? Summer is starting to wind down, although no one told the thermometer that. As a child, I recall my love-hate relationship with August. I looked forward to school, where I could see my friends and play sports, but I dreaded the end of my carefree, run-around-the-neighborhood days and nights that summer brought. We didn’t know we were making memories – we thought we just lost track of bedtime.

Summer was more than a season. It was a time of less responsibility, a looser curfew, and a less structured schedule, offering greater freedom to explore and imagine life. It was a time to read, spend so many hours in the pool that your hair turned green and eyes were bloodshot, play hide-and-seek, whiffle ball, or basketball in the driveway, always trying to squeeze out the last trace of daylight. We were so busy doing nothing important.

As with love, there is both magic and mystery in summer.  Kids soak up their lazy summer days and store them in memories, building feelings that foster resilience for less pleasant times to come. It calls to us like a place we have visited and wish we could return to. Our summers won’t come back, but their songs still hum in our bones.

I’ve been searching for something

Taken out of my soul

Something I’d never lose

Something somebody stole.

Last week was the 15th annual rendition of Nana camp. My wife, Kathy (Nana), has devoted one week each summer to hosting all our grandchildren at our house, with the single goal of having fun. Last week, we had 10 children ranging in age from 2 to 18, each with their idea of how to spend the time best.

Swimming in the pool, playing tennis, Ping-Pong or pickleball, riding dirt bikes or the ATV, golf, skating, or baseball, completing puzzles and playing games, attending music in the park, completing art projects, learning to drive Grandpa’s corvette, lessons in music and voice, shaping metal using an old fashioned forge, woodworking projects, tubing behind my boat - there was enough to do.

The time passed quickly. All the food disappeared. Each evening, we recapped the day, speaking to what we enjoyed the most and sharing thoughts about life and our dreams. At the end of the week, Kathy and I were exhausted in the best way.

Some say love is holding on.

Some say letting go

Some say a way of living

Some say a way to feel.

We can do Nana camp for a week. We can’t do it for life. And that’s okay. Because when everything is awesome, nothing is awesome. The memories our kids will cherish aren’t the ones we might expect. It’s not so much what they did, but how they felt and who they did it with. Comforting rituals of everyday living are what life is made of.

Summer allows us to slow down the clock, so routines are something we can enjoy more than something to do. A mother’s heart delights in her four-year-old son’s smile, lighting his face like a fiery sunset in the sky, understanding that his days of innocence are numbered.

We take photos—lots of pictures—to capture frozen moments. Too often, in our compulsion to take that photo, our actual memory of what we photographed will be fuzzier than if we had just allowed ourselves to be present. In downtime moments of ordinary activities, we don’t take as many pictures. Yet, it is these moments our children will remember most.

The greatest tragedy occurs when our summer place is lost, not for a season, but forever. It is the curse of adulthood. A recent survey found that two-thirds of Americans believe summer loses its magic as they get older. The adventure of enjoying what was missed during the school year is replaced by an obligation to cram in “awesome” into a one or two-week vacation.

 It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It's the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

Years ago, I was advised to consider what I wanted to do in retirement and take some of those plans into my life each week. I haven’t done that very well. Like many of you, I have been consumed with career plans and responsibilities. I felt a bit guilty when I wasn’t accomplishing something I believed necessary. So much could go wrong. Fear of failure was ever-present. Trusting as a child in the pure enchantment of the moment is hard to recapture.

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

And the soul afraid of dying

That never learns to live.

I’ve come to understand that summer is a state of mind. I’m frequently asked about my retirement plans. My goal is to chase an endless summer. To rediscover a bit of my childhood. I can’t control the aging of my outside, but I’m going to work on the aging of my insides. To create a space where I have the time to change my mind, and it doesn’t matter if I’m wrong.

Maybe I’ll play some whiffle ball.

Tim Powell MD

PS: (I borrowed bits of lyrics from Billy Joel, John Denver, Notting Hillbillies, and Bette Midler. Can you spot them?)