On my walk back home from errands, I saw this relic of a VW parked, and it sparked my memories of summertime and vacations.
The only “vacation” we had our entire childhood, other than being farmed out to relatives, was two camping trips.
One of the trips was a combo car camping and pup tent overnighter. Our father despised the outdoors. Our mother would rather be outside than inside, especially if it did not involve her children.
[In light of recent news of suicides & mental health discussions—and the “no shame” sentiments, it’s never easy to hear about parents who never wanted to be parents. Sure, they did the best they could with what they had, BUT dang it was a low bar.]
How we were raised has everything to do with organizing and our relationship to stuff.
Back to the VW camping trip. Can you imagine three children sleeping in the car: front/middle/and we called it the back-back. Maj (short for Mary Jo, my mom) and I slept in a pup tent—maybe Big Basin in Santa Cruz Mountains? At least that’s how I remember it.