Member-only story
A Summer of Saving Turtles.
Children, parenting, and sending them in the right direction.
“I want to go to Germany,” you say as we flip through the pages of National Geographic, laying on the front porch together, your red popsicle dripping onto the pages.
“Where is this?” you ask, grimy finger pressed against the wall map, pointing to Alaska. You say you want to see mountains that have snow on top.
“I want to go to a place with prairie dogs!” you laugh, snorting and covering your nose so the chocolate milk doesn’t come out. You watch the silly little bandits ganging up on a rattlesnake on the screen; you double-over and point your tiny finger. “Can we go?”
“Okay,” I say, not to commit or give false hope, but to let you know I have heard you.
But you know I can’t get you there. That I can’t take you on vacations or send you to that movie production camp you heard about from a friend. I can’t throw your birthday at the trampoline park or bring you and your friends to the water park. Our life is different than that.
I can only get you as far as this tank of gas.
* * * * *
Your feet are out the window, shining in the July sun. You are wiggling your toes to the music — The Rolling Stones crackling out of the one working speaker, old truck, a can of…
