This is always a strange time of the year for me.
Half of my family is teeming with the excitement of getting out of school and having the summer to play, hang out with friends, stay up late, and sleep in until the sun is blaring. Meanwhile, my routine doesn’t change one bit.
There are a couple ways I can take the summer off and neither of them is too appealing. I could go on a sabbatical, but I’m not in a profession that really allows that kind of thing. In my line of work, that is called unemployment. Unemployment isn’t going to pay the bills, including summer camps, and fund the frolicking in which the rest of my brood will partake.
I could have a serious sickness or injury. I’m not even going to have some pithy commentary on that, as I would obviously be in more pain or suffering than if I was sentenced to a summer of sniffing dirty lacrosse equipment.
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Being mature means making sacrifices, but it sure would be fun to tear into a bowl of cereal after getting up at 11 a.m. and then head off to ride the Fury by noon and soak in the pool by late afternoon before going to bed whenever the heck I want. Actually, I can go to bed now whenever I want, but it is the getting up early part that would negate any benefit staying up late provided. My body has a funny way of saying, “Yo, chief: you don’t get the summer off!”
And yes, my body talks like that. It thinks it’s 20 years old and berates the rest of me.
Here’s the thing. Short of winning the lottery or starting the next business boom, I’m in this position for the next 20 years. When I will finally draw Social Security and have the time to spend for summer, my kids will be in the position I am now, and going on the Fury might mean having some poor schlub behind me getting smacked in the face with flying dentures. That’s why old people golf and tend to gardens and tell young ‘uns to keep off their lawns. They are angry they lost a lifetime of summers, and now when they can enjoy them, rugrats are treading on one of the only pastimes they can enjoy, looking out at an unblemished yard.
So it looks like I can either mount an assault on Bill Gates’ empire and compete with Microsoft, or I can start swinging a 5 iron and dust off my hedge clippers. Maybe I’ll just spend a lot of time in a golf cart riding on other people’s lawns. Fore!
You can reach Scott Cost at email@example.com to search under the Fury for lost items.