The end is nigh. The end of summer vacation, that is. Tomorrow morning, at about 8 am, I will be left alone in this home office of mine. No more bicycle trips to the pool house, no more making pancakes for lunch, no more football matches or games of petanque in the park, no more lazy days in my lazy chair outside while the kids run around with their friends.
Of course, the only one feeling blue about the end of summer, is me. Son can’t wait to go back to school, and Daughter is pumped to meet all her friends in the kindergarten again. Wife’s been working for a few weeks already. That’s why she’s told me to stop saying it’s the end of summer. “It’s not the end of summer, it’s just the end of summer vacation,” she says.
Sure, we can still ride our bikes in the afternoons, and evenings, and on weekends, but it’s just not the same, is it?
Anyway, I’ve decided to boycott the end of summer. I’ll still ride my bike around our town, I’ll play football and petanque, and I’ll be damned if I don’t eat pancakes for lunch every now and then. I will even chase the icecream truck.
So, if you’re around here next week, don’t be alarmed if you hear a strange sound, reminiscent of a lonely whale’s call, coming from the playground, from the direction where the swings are.
It’s just me.