When I was a kid, vacations were something that rich people did. I remember succinctly the first time I heard the 
phrase “going on vacation”. My friend said, “I won’t be at the fort tomorrow—we’re going on vacation.” “Yea…a vacation?” I asked, “What the heck’s a vacation?”
I don’t remember his answer, but I do remember thinking it stunk that he wouldn’t be around to ride bikes and play in the fort we’d just completed at the abandoned sawmill. I felt sorry for him; after all it was August and we were carefree 8 year old boys—where in the world could they be going that would be more fun than riding bikes and playing Soldiers and Indians in the woods?
That afternoon as mom was sprinkling and rolling the laundry, I asked her why we never went on vacation.
Post Script: I should stop and explain to my younger readers why my mom “sprinkled” the already air-dried laundry. You see, before Permanent Press, she would take the clothes off the clothesline and gently lay them into a wicker basket. Then she’d tote it onto the back porch where, later that afternoon, with supper in the oven, she’d sit on our screened-in back-porch and hand sprinkle each garment, roll them up tightly like a cowboy’s bed-roll and stuff them back into the basket. After supper she’d supervise us boys as we washed, dried and returned her precious Melmac to the cupboard. Finally, she’d retire to the ironing board and artfully press each garment, placing them carefully on hangers. By bedtime, on laundry days she had each of her four boys’ individual laundry ready to take with us to our bedroom.
Post-Post Script: I just asked Marilyn if her mother sprinkled the laundry and she replied, “Uh huh…don’t you remember I took in laundry while we were in college and I had to sprinkle the laundry before I ironed for my customers.” I had completely forgotten she spent most evenings our first year of marriage doing other’s laundry. Huh!
Anyway, I asked mom, “Why don’t we ever go on vacation?” She shrugged and said, “Vacations cost money, and we don’t have that kind of money.”
That was good enough for me. Like most 8 year old boys during the 1950’s, all I needed was a straight answer. I wasn’t smart enough to feel sorry for myself. I guess I didn’t realize there were over privileged folks and under privileged folks. I just figured we were privileged.
I can’t explain how it came about, but the following week my parents announced we were going to take a road trip to West Virginia’s Natural Bridge and Blue Ridge Parkway. I had no idea what The Natural Bridge or The Blue Ridge Parkway entailed, and I really didn’t care, but I was beside myself with excitement when mom explained we’d all sleep in the car the first night out. Now that’s a vacation!
That was the first vacation we took as a family. My oldest brother Tom was already off to the Marine Corp, leaving three brothers to duke it out for the back seat. I ended up on the rear deck by the back glass—It was magical as I laid there looking at the stars. That remains one of my fondest vacation memories.
I’m not sure if the muddle of nostalgia causes me to reflect peacefully on times past, or if instead my memories are indeed accurate and the simple joys of youth have built a bridge that today allow me instant access to happier times. Mental vacations, you might say. Regardless, I realize I am not self-made but instead God-blessed. I hope you experience times of peace and relaxation—whether you’re actually vacationing or simply remembering an escape from the stressors of life.
When I reflect on the wonder of my privileged life past and present, I think of what King David wrote with such depth and fluidity…
“Lord…You know me inside and out, you know every bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, the days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day. (Psalm 139:15-17)
Vacation or no vacation, I’m thankful for my privileged life—knowing I’m a child of the King and that He has always, and will always, hold my life in the palm of His hand.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.