After family staycations at the Embassy Suites, my twin sister and I thought “happy hour” was actually called “happy time”. Often, we’d take these trips in the fall. Rachel, my brother Joshua and I would swim for hours. We’d leave the warm indoor pool only to procure Shirley Temple and popcorn refills. We’d sloth on the walls of the pool, shoveling buttery goodness into our mouths. As leaves crunch and the weather crisps, it’s easy to get nostalgic.
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During my last workout of the year, the swimmer in the lane next to me frogged his legs out and almost kicked me a few times. It’s par for the course, but once or twice his hands skimmed my torso.
It startled me, if I’m honest—I felt a bit violated. “STAY IN YOUR LANE!” I yelled under the water.
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My daughter and I had a great summer. Don’t get me wrong, we have a good relationship and are quite close as I have raised her mainly by myself these past twenty odd years. But there are always stumbling blocks in any relationship, and none can be more tangled than parent and child. Why? Because...
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Waves crashed the shoreline. The sun sayonara-ed with gold, pink and orange. A small pack of people scurried on the beach, laying down a blanket and lighting candles in luminary bags. We were not sure what they were doing, but it looked important...
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