So I ask again: was that "quality time?"

Think back to your own childhood. What things do you remember most about your parents? Was it fact that your dad worked 16 hours a day at office, and fell asleep on couch on weekends because he was too exhausted to move? No, I'm willing to wager that's not what you remember. More likely, you remember time you went for a long walk along country road in rain and came home looking like not only something cat had dragged in, but something he'd dragged in and forgotten under refrigerator for a month.

It's been said that kids spell "love" ... t-i-m-e, and I couldn’t agree more.

So next time you hear yourself thinking that you'll make it up to your daughter when she asks you to play "Chutes and Ladders" for seven millionth time, remember: your kids are watching you, and it doesn't matter how young they are; they know how to spell word "quality," too.

Strangely enough, to our kids, word "quality" is spelled exactly same as word "love."

They’re both spelled T-I-M-E.

© 2004. Gary E. Anderson. All rights reserved.

But worst thing was stifling heat of my new shoes. The salesman had made no mention of fact that those shoes came with a built-in furnace; much less one stuck on "middle-of-winter" setting all year round. Steam rose from my feet, and I fully expected my socks to catch fire at any moment. I could only hope my mom had anticipated that possibility and ordered fireproof socks. (Luckily, moms are pretty good at stuff like that, which probably explains why you so rarely see kids’ feet burst into flames.)

It seemed to me that shoes were unnecessary, since no one could see my feet anyway, what with my new shirt dragging in dust around me. On first day of school, I stood at end of our driveway, trying not to be blown into Illinois by a having a gust of wind blow underneath my tent-shirt.

Then something strange happened. Even though I'd soon be seeing kids I'd been missing all summer, suddenly I remembered a thousand things I should have done during that endless summer! But now it was too late. There I was, a 40-year-old fourth grader in a tent-shirt, waiting for a bus, examining a wasted life ... it all seemed so sad.

So I knew exactly what my son was going through. Sometimes it does feel like we're dying from vacation. But sometimes, it's nice to just sit back and enjoy ride—before school bus comes. That makes perfect sense to an adult, of course. But try explaining it to a fourth grader, who's in process of dying from vacation even as you speak.

© 2004. Gary E. Anderson. All rights reserved.