June 8, 2005
Last night in the house. I am leaving for camp tomorrow, summer number nine. For the first time since I’ve been a counselor, I am packing long before leaving, as I will be spending the night at Meghan’s. It’s always a little weird packing for camp. I love it so much, and yet the process of leaving home for nine weeks always bothers me just a bit. Tonight is particularly odd, as this is not simply my final night at home until August. This is my final night at home. Ever. My parents are looking into buying a condo in downtown Wilmette, and as I will probably be moving to Indianapolis with Meghan after camp, this will be my final night in this house where our family has lived since the summer of 1995. Coming up on ten years since the move. Amazing.
Meg and I sit in my room, packing. Ah, packing for camp. Gone are the days when I did not have to do any of this. My mom, like all moms, loved packing for me. Going down the camp list and checking off the eight t-shirts, eight pairs of shorts, two pairs of pants, two sweatshirts/long sleeved warm shirts, a pair of flip flops for the shower, two pairs of gym shoes—one that can be wrecked, if necessary (and it always is)—a nice short-sleeved collared shirt and a pair of khaki shorts for Friday nights, eight pairs of socks, eight pairs of underwear, bug spray (which I don’t use, as it doesn’t work), sun screen (which I do use, as it does), three or four towels, bedding stuff, bathroom stuff, a water bottle, a cook kit, my baseball glove, and then various other items, such as a camera, walk man, and lots of AA batteries. Now, of course, I pack on my own. And I keep it simple. I wash all of my clothes in three big loads of laundry, and then I fold and pack it all. Done and done. I’ve even become responsible enough to make my own check list.
Meg and I are near finished packing when Mike walks in.
“You ‘bout ready, bro?”
“Yup.”
“I’m going to go to bed soon. Wake me when you leave.”
“No dice. I’m sleeping at Meg’s tonight.”
“Tiiiiiiiiiiiiight…” He laughs. “Well then,” he says, extending his hand, “have a great summer.”
“You too, Mike.” We clasp hands, and then hug. Not a macho man hug, but a real hug, followed by kisses on the cheek and a warm look in the eyes.
“Love you bro.”
“Love you, too.”
Then he punches me, hard, right in the arm, so I punch him in the chest and slap him in the face, so he picks me up and tries to body slam me, but my arms are gripped around him, and he can’t quite drop me, and then I hook my leg around his back and smash him with my heel. He arches backwards in pain, and we stop.
“Nice move,” he says.
“Damn straight.”
“I just realized something. This is our last night in the house as a family.”
“Whoa.” I look around. “That’s true.”
Mike goes into my parents’ room, and tells them, and then brings me in. He gets us into a small huddle, and while Meghan waits in my room, Mike leads the family in a silent appreciation. Just as we’re about to be done, Killarney, perhaps feeling left out, wanders in.
I’m done packing, and as I go it's goodbyes and hugs and kisses go all around. Meg and I pack my car and walk out the front door. I take a last look at 1736 Central, hop in the Honda with Meghan, and drive away.