One day, all your children will have are pictures of you. Make sure you’re in them. No matter what your hair looks like, your makeup, or your body, they won’t care about any of that. They’ll just want to see you.
I posted two pictures today on Facebook from our Las Vegas adventure. One picture showed nine of us at the bingo gala. We all looked happy-as-can-be, and that was before we won our little jackpot. The other picture is of our childhood reunion, 40 years in the making.
I don’t typically like taking pictures, but I figured I needed to be in these two pictures, at least, because it would tell the story of my 60th birthday celebration. Some folks who couldn’t attend would want to see what all the fuss was about, and I want to remember my childhood friends as adults.
We spent the summers of the 70s at a bungalow colony in Hopewell Junction, New York, a small town near Fishkill and Wappingers Falls. In 2010, the population of Hopewell Junction was 376 people, and in the summers of the 70s, the town grew with visitors from “The Big City” to spend the summer months in, literally, a wooden shack. (Think Dirty Dancing and the Catskills.) We were on other side of the mountains, and when school let out in late June, the families would pack linens and dishes and drive an hour out of the city to our bungalow. It was a furnished little “house” and moms and their kids would be there all summer. Dads would drive up on Friday afternoons and drive back home for work on Sunday evenings. We would all pack up our belongings and head home Labor Day weekend.
We had great fun as day campers and counselors and, as I’ve said, we made lifetime friends. I wouldn’t have traded those formative years for anything.