The golden tips have started to slowly take over the kids’ hair. The tans on their toes, already lightly spotted from their favorite shoes, evidence of a weekend in the blazing sun. On my way home from London, I was left with a few wide-awake hours to map
my existence the next few weeks of our schedules. The kids hardly go to school in June. And Oak’s birthday is just two weeks away. I’m also pausing the booktour run for a slower pace that that often arrives with the Brooklyn heat.
While questions and answers about leaving home now take shape, with a birthday imminent, a family desire for even more experiences in lieu of gifts only leans itself into our summer bucket list.
If, Oak gets less gifts, and more opportunities and challenges to do things, then as a result we get more time to do things. Besides traveling, the top of my bucket list happens to be actually swimming in the water with the kids. I don’t swim, really. Actually, I don’t swim much at all. I’m not embarrassed of it. And historically speaking, there are many reasons why black people don’t swim. And while I’m sure they still count for 29 year old me, there was this tangible fragility of life born with River, and by default large bodies of water became part of that.
I always get in the water and I’m always eager to splash around. I am the rock for climbing. My arms are often hanging poles for crashing waves in the sinking sand. But 5 and 8 1/2 feels like a good time to not only make sure they also get to learn to swim a bit better, but to make sure I do it with them.
How’s your bucket list looking?
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