There are many parents who feel the term "Summer vacation" is a misnomer,and I'm one of them.
Thanks to a spouse with fulltime employment and a live-in mother-in-law who contributes far more than her share to running our household, I'm also one of those fortunate few public school teachers who does not need to work a second job.
But don't think I'm spending the summer sleeping late, restoring my fleet of vintage automobiles, or orchestrating weekend getaways to Boston, Mount Washington, or Bar Harbor. The energy, imagination, and patience required to be a temporarily full-time father of three young children is more than enough to keep me occupied from the moment I awaken until the time comes to retire for the evening, which in my case is usually about three minutes after the last of our trio of cherubs has been tucked in for the night.
My primary responsibility so far this vacation has been chauffeuring. Our nine-year-old son is signed up for basketball camp, science camp and travel soccer. His seven-year-old sister also has a summer full of activities planned, although she's recently been slowed by the fractured wrist she acquired while inadvertently demonstrating to her brothers that attempting to balance atop a soccer ball isn't a good idea. Their four-year-old brother started T-ball last week, meaning that soon his mother and I are going to have to start figuring out who will be attending and/or coaching which child's games, and on what day(s).
Last week I made scheduled business trips to the barber, the dentist, and the auto repair shop, plus one unanticipated visit to the emergency room. I also had to transport each child for his or her annual visit to the pediatrician. Our youngest stood out during his appointment. He laughed like the Pillsbury Doughboy when the doctor stuck her stethoscope under his shirt, and also charmed the nurses with a non-stop "stream-of-consciousness" oral account of his life (up to this point). He didn't shed even one tear when two staff members simultaneously and adroitly administered inoculations (one per arm), a distinction that neither of his older siblings (nor at least one of his parents) can claim. The highlight of that day, though, was learning that he is currently a perfect square; he's 42 and one-half inches tall and weighs 42 and one-half pounds! There are very few times in one's life when it's possible (or desirable) to have identical height and weight measurements. The thought of an adult whose height in inches is precisely the same as his or her weight in pounds is preposterous.
Then I thought of a man who might have come the closest.
When Manute Bol arrived in the United States in the early 80's he looked like a figment of someone's imagination. A Sudanese cowherd who at age 15 had used a spear to kill a lion that was menacing his flock, he stood 91 inches tall but weighed less than 200 pounds. And despite the efforts of the training staff at the University of Bridgeport (where he played a year of college basketball) and various nutritionists affiliated with the National Basketball Association teams that later employed him, the impossibly long-limbed Bol remained painfully thin. The 7'7" shot-blocking machine would probably have been dubbed "The Human Eraser" had that nickname not already been applied to another NBA behemoth, the late Marvin Webster, who at 7'1" was a mere Lilliputian compared to Bol.
While Bol fashioned a unique ten-year NBA career (he's the only player in league history with more blocked shots than points scored), his most significant contributions were made off the court. His tireless activism of behalf of various charitable causes, many of them aimed at stopping the genocide in the Darfur region of his native Sudan, was what made Bol stand above the crowd figuratively as well physically. Bol literally gave his life for his country, since it's likely he contracted the painful skin disease that ultimately took his life last month while he was on his most recent humanitarian junket to his native continent. He leaves ten children without a dad to take them to and from basketball camp, Mad Science, T-ball games, and any other pursuits where transportation is needed.
Manute Bol's life is worth admiring for his working tirelessly to make the world a better place through promoting reconciliation in his native land, and for his raising significant sums of money to build schools there.
And while his tragic death at age 47 is lamentable, it also provides motivation for at least one parent on "summer vacation" in southern Maine to quit whining about having to ferry his kids to and from their many summer appointments and activities.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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