Summer is different.
For nine months, life runs on schedules, routines, and responsibilities. Then summer arrives, and everything loosens up a little. When I was a kid, those weeks seemed to stretch on forever—and the highlight of every summer was our annual vacation to Lake George, New York.
Lake George sits in the Adirondack Mountains. The lake itself is about 30 miles long, surrounded by mountains and postcard-worthy scenery. It was roughly a five-hour drive from our home on Long Island, but to a 10-year-old, it felt like we were setting out on a major expedition.
My dad wasn’t around, and my mom wasn’t comfortable making the long drive with my grandmother and me, so my uncle—her brother—and his wife usually came with us. My uncle drove Mom’s 1966 Comet because it had four doors and enough room for all five of us. We piled into that car with our luggage, snacks and probably far too many things my grandmother insisted we couldn’t possibly live without, and off we went.
We weren’t rich, so every year we rented a cabin at the same family-owned motor court. My uncle, who never met a stranger, quickly became friends with the owners. By the time we returned the following summer, it felt less like checking into a motel and more like visiting relatives.
We cooked most of our meals ourselves, using pots and pans brought from home because my grandmother would never have allowed us to cook with the ones in the cabin. She had standards. Very specific, very Italian standards.
We didn’t spend much money going out. Our days were spent at the lake—swimming, occasionally fishing, and mostly just hanging around together. At night, we watched television, played cards, or worked on a puzzle. Once or twice during the week, we’d head downtown, browse the souvenir shops and other tourist attractions, and maybe get a frozen custard.
It was simple, and it was wonderful.
I got to spend uninterrupted time with my mom and my uncle, who was really like a father to me. I loved every minute of it.
At least, I did when I was 10.
By the time I reached my teenage years, Lake George was no longer cool. I was “stuck” on vacation with my family. The horror. I was also a loner, so seeking out other teenagers wasn’t really my thing. Suddenly, the vacation I had once counted down to all year had become—there’s no other way to say it—boring.
When I got to college, I heard classmates talk about vacations to Cabo, Puerto Rico, and even Europe. Europe! I vowed that someday I would see those places and never, ever spend every vacation going back to the same destination.
I might have been wrong.
Years later, my wife, Donna, and I took our first vacation to Aruba. We fell in love with the island and its people. We’ve visited many other Caribbean islands and enjoyed them all, but Aruba became special to us.
And, without realizing it, we created a routine.
We know which grocery store to visit. We’ve developed friendships with people who work at the resort. At night, after dinner, we play cards or work on a puzzle. We don’t cook very much in the room, but when we do, we use the resort’s pots and pans.
Sorry, Nanna.
I now look forward to those vacations with the same excitement I felt as a child heading to Lake George. The scenery has changed. The car ride has been replaced by a flight. Frozen custard may have been replaced by something a little more tropical. But in many ways, the vacation is exactly the same.
That’s the lesson I’ve learned: A vacation is often less about where you go or how much you spend and more about who is there with you.
I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to fly to the Caribbean, and I know not everyone has that opportunity. But the most valuable part of any vacation doesn’t require an exotic destination. It’s the time spent together—laughing, reconnecting and doing wonderfully ordinary things like playing cards or working on a puzzle.
Those are the moments that become memories. And those memories can last a lifetime, whether they’re made on a tropical island, beside a mountain lake or just a few miles from home.
I hope you have a chance to make some memories with the people you love this summer—however and wherever you choose to do it.
My uncle, my mom, and I
Tony, Donna, and friends Linda and John
