August is generally the time when families bundle up the sleeping bags, tents and firewood and head to the hills for a reunion.
As a kid, I didn’t enjoy them very much; I’m sure there were a variety of reasons: I didn’t feel comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings, insecurity of what all those people may be thinking about me (because of course they were ALL looking at me, right?), or I just didn’t feel a connection with these people who lived lives so different from the one I lived.
I was always an alien landing on a new planet and not knowing the language.
My wish was to just close the camper door again and turn around and head back to our own familiar galaxy.
But we didn’t.