My wife teases me that, with both of our children away at sleepaway camp, I’ll have nothing to share in my weekly Editor’s Note for seven weeks. And I, of course, then tease her about needing to turn the focus of this column to our marriage. But not quite yet. This week my son unknowingly gave me such a good parting gift that I think it’s worth sharing.
My children, now 15 and 11, both go to the same sleepaway camp (Crane Lake) in the Berkshires. We drive up to the area as a family on Sunday, usually stay over at this lovely inn (Seven Hills Inn), whose affordable cottages are the steal of the Berkshires, and then head over to the camp on Monday morning. When we travel as a family, it usually ends up that my son, Adam, and I share one bed, and my wife, Rebecca, and daughter, Elena, share the other. Historically, I was the one who lost the largest amount of sleep in this arrangement because when he was younger, Adam was a very fitful sleeper, complete with rolls and kicks and sheet-hogging.
But he’s mellowed with age and last Sunday night he largely stayed to his side of the bed. There was one moment though when, in his sleep, he turned toward me and slipped his hand in mine. The feeling may have woken me, but I didn’t mind: Having our hands together like that was so resonant of earlier years and the sweetest moments of father-son connection.
It occurred to me that even now, and probably forever, I will always love when one of my children holds hands with me.
Eric Messinger is the editor of New York Family. He can be reached at [email protected]
