Sixth grade has begun for my grandsons, Tyler and Bryce. Middle school. One giant leap for studentkind. That tale will be told — we hope happily — but first … one last look at the summer of 11 years old.
It was a lot like the summer of 10 years old. Nine Wednesdays (and one Friday), luxuriously long days off the clock, the Papa Ken Summer Camp. This year they actually went to camp, five days away from home on their own, sleeping in cabins with kids they didn’t know, along with, reportedly, millions of spiders (some small measure of exaggeration there perhaps), but the boys still declared it “super-fun.”
Before all that, the summer began with two sessions of indoor rock climbing (Urban Air one week, Vertical Endeavors the next) because the early June weather was decidedly cloudy, rainy and smoky. Inside, they scrambled up knobby walls like Spiderman without the sticky stuff. Harnesses and ropes helped. I admired them greatly from the ground as I prepared to catch any falling bodies.
The following week we visited Brookfield Zoo, and fearlessly sat in the infamous “splash zone,” suffering the slings and stings of outrageous salt water flung from dolphin tail fins. Following the first tsunami, Bryce chose the better part of valor, seven rows up, while Tyler and I got gloriously soaked. There is something undeniably therapeutic about getting drenched in the pursuit of fun.
A week later, we attached our bikes to my new rack and headed to Morton Arboretum to take advantage of the long downslopes through the forested section, momentarily outgliding any nerves about our uncharted futures. We also completed nine holes of mini-golf, with many do-overs, much questionable scorekeeping, and wild protestations about the inherent unfairness of the universe.
Bowling followed, where the winner at mini-golf, a model of sportsmanship, traded places with the winner at bowling and morphed into a raving lunatic.
The next week we took the Metra to Oak Park, then hopped on the Green Line and headed to the Loop, where we perused the Art Institute gift shop, and played 18 holes of Chicago-themed mini-golf at Maggie Daley Park, which offered twice as many opportunities for wailing and gnashing of teeth and all the rest.
Next up was the Museum of Science and Industry, which included a high-tech exhibit with gorgeous, immersive music and special effects, including a maze of mirrors. We agreed it was the best time we’ve ever had while getting eco-scolded about overusing plastic.
We also did something I’ve wanted to check off my list since childhood — touring the bowels of the World War II German U-Boat. Cramped, hot quarters, with beds next to torpedos, brought underwater warfare alive. To avoid depth charges and submerge faster, the crew would run to the nose and pile on top of one another. We were game to recreate history, but it was verboten.
The Wednesday after they returned from camp, we explored Egyptian mummy tombs and massive dinosaur skeletons at the Field Museum, including an exhibit tracing the entire evolution of life on Earth, demonstrating that millions of years can really add up to something.
The following week, my friends Rick and Gail, who live in Winnetka, helped us gain entry to one of the public beaches for several hours of being blissfully removed from everything except sun, sand, breeze and lapping waves. Bare of foot, awash in the wash, shadowed by seagull drones, we dragged our digging tools, castle molds and buckets to this sandy shore to build towers, moats and ramparts. The slowly rising tide tested their seawalls.
Surprisingly, God made an appearance, in the form of a smooth, gray stone atop Bryce’s sand mountain, which was heaven, he said. A second stone on the side of the mountain was the door God used to go out into the world each day to admire creation.
Eventually, the lapping waves got the better of heaven, and Bryce informed me God was a casualty. “He wasn’t immortal,” he explained, “but he might come back,” adding, “Now I have to make a church.” Theologically, that sounds about right.
They created a burial circle with a large stone in the center to cover God’s resting place. Bryce found two stems of straw grass, deftly tied them into a cross, and planted it overlooking the tomb. Mythologist Joseph Campbell, I think, would have approved.
Personally, I thought the entire beach was heaven.
On our final Wednesday, we returned to Brookfield Zoo to see the recently-opened outdoor primate area. It was hot, so one of the gorillas hid in a small patch of shade behind a man-made tree. The other crouched in a shaded corner next to the glass where people pressed close to watch every move. The boys and I discussed how human he looked and acted, and so we left — out of respect for our cousin’s privacy.
After one last stop for ice cream, the summer of 11 years old drew to a close. Far too soon. With their future insistently beckoning, will they remember any of this?
Someday, perhaps … when their past beckons with equal insistence.