Labor day is upon us and as I celebrate the ending of the chaotic mess that is summer for parents, I also can’t help but feel a little wistful. Did I make the most of the summer? Or, more to the point, have I made lasting memories for my kids?
The answer to that, I think, is yes. But the memories are not found in volumes of ice cream, the rides at the county fair, the hours of pool time and picnics, or the (shockingly expensive) songs and bonding they had at camps. I believe that in the long term these simple joys will become part of a happy and balanced childhood, but they’re not the kind of thing they look back on and say, “remember when …?”
The “remember when” moments are a different kind of fun — Type 2 fun.
As former Fatherly editor Julia Holmes explained in her wonderful essay on memory and adventures, there are varying levels of fun. “The ‘fun scale,’” she writes, “which first circulated in climbing books and media in the 1980s, divides outdoor recreation into three major categories. At one end of the scale is Type 1: You expect to enjoy yourself and you do (a day at the beach). At the other end of the scale is Type 3: not even remotely fun, catastrophically bad, something never to be repeated (shipwrecked). Somewhere between those extremes is the perfect fun, the kind of fun that pushes you past yourself and (hopefully) delivers you back to yourself in better condition — stronger, happier, full of fresh gratitude for comfort and company.”
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Type 2 fun is the stuff of memories. When we tell a great story about travel or adventure — one that’s worth retelling throughout life — there is usually an edge to it. There are barriers overcome, there is a sketchy or frightening moment, there are lessons learned.
I think about Type 2 fun all the time. As a distance runner and cyclist and outdoors person who remembers the first time they got hypothermia fondly (it’s a good story!), I embrace such “fun” and try to bring my kids into it. As a dad, I know that summers, with the kids out of school and the weather cooperating is a great time to go after it.
So, as we stare down Labor Day, I wonder to myself, how’d I do?
This summer, if you are to look at my 8-year-old’s skinned knees, I think some memories were made. We daily took to the trails and roads and pump track to bike. There were falls, tears, and an awesome amount of getting back on the bike with a chin held high. One of his favorite stories to tell was actually from last summer when we were mountain biking together, attached, tandem-style. It was hot, buggy, and we had already had a minor crash (or two) along the rocky trail. At one point, there was a ledge that required you to walk your bike, single file, over a small cliff. I asked my son to go to the other side and wait, the better for him to watch as I awkwardly pushed the long tandem bike along the thin ledge, lost my balance and, rather than fall 20 feet to the forest floor, tossed the bike and leaned into the rock. I steadied myself as the bike crashed below. Thirty minutes later, we had were back up top and on the trail again — with a story to tell.
For my older child, I might have gone a little hard on the Type 2 fun this summer. I offered to pick up my teen and their best friend from overnight camp and take them on their first real backpacking trip this year. I marked the maps, packed the food, and neatly stored our tents, stoves, water purifiers, headlamps, and sleeping bags for a three-night, four day trip on The Long Trail in Vermont. The more serious ascent was to happen on day 1, leaving the rest of the trip for a rolling hike, out and back, to give them a pleasant taste for one of my favorite pastimes.
The Gods of Type 2 fun had other plans. First of all, the parking lot on the map simply wasn’t where it should have been, so we wound our way through country roads to the next lot, miles away and downhill from the planned start. In the new parking lot, a sign informed us that a shelter had moved a few miles further. The short of it: A good hike became a formidable trek. Three days, 18.34 miles, and 4,698 feet (up!) later, the kids refused to camp a third night in the woods, demanding to hike straight to the car and go get a hotel. We did just that. I stopped for milkshakes on the way, but somehow, years from now, I don’t think the truck stop shakes are what they’re going to remember about their time on The Long Trail.
This weekend, I think I’m going to take the family to Coney Island. The kids will grab hot dogs, we’ll all ride on the Wonder Wheel, walk down the beach and share the breeze. We’ve made enough memories this summer — and everyone needs a little forgettable fun too.
