Summer Parenting Is Often a Winding and Bumpy Road
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My family discovered a new outdoor activity that helped us ward off the mid-summer malaise but after just a few days, bruises, bumps, and a broken-down car ended our fun.
Summer parenting is weird even during the best of times. The lack of consistent schedules often leaves me feeling untethered and aimless. But when things start to go sideways, man, it can quickly feel like the wheels are completely falling off, or perhaps more aptly as you’ll see in a moment, the engine is stalled.
For me, maybe it’s the oppressive Florida humidity and unpredictable weather that make every mishap feel a little bit more cataclysmic. It has to be part of it, but there is certainly something more at play. Expectations.
Our society bombards us with both explicit and subliminal messages about the magic of summertime. The ads and Instagram posts promise us relaxation and fun. They make us feel like we’re wasting precious time with our children if we don’t do it all and see it all. And if our kids spend too much time playing video games and watching TV while the earth melts and the parents try to scrape together enough money to live? Well, we are clearly doing things wrong.
I fight this internal battle with expectations every summer and I’ve yet to win. Probably because there is no winning. It feels borderline absurd that the world is fraying around the edges and I’m still sitting here worried about making memories. Whatever that even means.
So, when the boredom gets to be too much and the YouTube gets even more annoying than usual, typically sometime in July which is objectively the weirdest month, I hatch a hare-brained scheme to try to salvage summer.
This year’s scheme: a pump track!
I didn’t know what a pump track was until about a week ago so allow me to provide a quick definition in case you are similarly unaware. A pump track is a track built for bicycles, skateboards, and other rolly things that has hills, turns, and ramps. The name comes from the technique riders use (pumping) to generate momentum with their upper bodies. To my eye, it looks kind of like the motion one would use to bounce on a pogo stick, but on a bike instead. We just discovered these tracks existed and, of course, immediately made pump tracking (is that what you call it?) our entire personality.
At least, for about four days.
We went to the pump track located at a county park about 20 minutes from our home multiple days in one week, braving the scorching heat and suffocating humidity. On our first visit, the evening air was heavy after the afternoon thunderstorms and the entire park smelled swampy and earthy. My 12-year-old son, who was the most keen on trying this new sport, was hesitant at first but he luckily received encouragement from a shirtless six-year-old boy who seemed to live by himself at the park and, based on how fast he was whipping around the curves, will likely be participating in X-Games BMX events later in the summer.
All was going well. My 12-year-old was loving it, which I was happy to see because he is typically a very indoor child. My 10-year-old basketball-loving son also gave it a try and was getting more comfortable with each attempt. And my 8-year-old daughter was just starting to get the hang of navigating the small hills on rollerblades.
However, on our third visit, my oldest had a fluke accident and fell from the top of a ramp while he was waiting to ride. One moment he was perched atop the wall on one of the track’s curves, and then I turned my head away for a second and heard a clatter and heavy thump. When it comes to children and most other things, clatters and heavy thumps are rarely good.
Fortunately, my son avoided broken bones so the total family broken bone count remains at one for the summer (so far… the 10-year-old broke a finger at basketball camp). However, I have the sneaking suspicion his newfound passion may have been squelched.
Video games are much safer, after all.
And if the accident wasn’t enough misery for one day, when we tried to leave the park with a gaggle of children and several bicycles in tow, my car wouldn’t start. Fortunately, a friend had joined us at the park and she had a minivan that could accommodate all of the people and some of the equipment. My car was left to survive on its own but luckily we didn’t have to leave any children behind.
After a few days of struggling with car repair and a late-night visit to the emergency room where my son got the all-clear, we’re mostly back to normal. My wife quipped that at least our son, who has expensive Crohn’s disease treatments every eight weeks, had already hit his out-of-pocket max for the year so his ER visit was free. I guess that’s what you call a silver lining when you live in modern-day America. Just think of all the reckless shenanigans he can get up to in the next four-plus months without the risk of further bankrupting us!
Once the physical and psychological scars heal, I hope we’ll be heading back to the pump track. Because summer is long, but the years are short… or something? We’re going to keep trying our best to make some memories and push ourselves out of our comfort zones at least a little.
Why? I don’t know. I guess because it’s summer and that’s what this dumb season is all about. Or so I’ve been told.
Andrew Knott is the editor of Frazzled and a writer of essays, humor, and fiction. You can subscribe to his newsletter for updates. His debut novel Love’s a Disaster is available now.