15 summers is all I got with my daughters.
They’re gone. The summers. Not them.
15 summers. 15 Junes.
Technically, 15 with my youngest.
14 with my older child. But who’s counting?
Every year after the divorce, I was given the privilege of having them for all of June.
Just me. Just dad.
On that last day of school, they would hop into the car, and we would ride off really slowly. My little Civic was on its last leg.
For 10 of those summers- I would take the month of June off.
Not entirely off- just slightly off the grid.
No business networking. No business meetings. I wouldn’t agree to anything that didn’t allow me to include my girls.
We spent most of the month at the pool in the first few years taking swim lessons. My little dolphins swam for hours a day and earned their gills.
If you wanted to talk business, then you had to meet me at the pool. And some of them did. Alan! I’m looking at you, buddy. You’re a real one for that.
Mangonadas and raspas were a staple of our diet for the month. Then we’d drive to the park and relax as we devoured our little tasty Mexican treat. Afterward, we would see-saw and swing out the extra calories away.
We spent a ton of time outside that month. When I returned them in July, they were a lovely beautiful shade of their dad.
I miss the walks to the parks on Sundays with our chess set, basketball, frisbee, and sandwiches.
I ran out of time.
Does anyone have a June to spare? 🌞