Wistful Weekend

 This weekend is an emotional one for me.  You might think it is because my son will be moving/going back to college.  That's part of it, but not all of it.

Saturday, Aug 24th was the 9th week of sailing on Barnegat Bay and is hosted by Lavalette Yacht Club.  My parents were members there and for many years (decades) my father served on the Barnegat Bay Yacht Racing Association.  While next weekend (Labor Day weekend) will be the final race (hosted by Seaside Park) with a big blow out afterwards (including the annual end of the year t-shirt, my father collected them all and I still have them along with the annual rooster flags [to learn more about that, read this excellent post:  https://propercourse.blogspot.com/2014/07/chasing-roosters.html] and I need to figure out what to do with them.), this race and it's after party meant the most to my parents.  

I, along with my son, would often go down to LYC with my mother.  My father would call her when the races wrapped up and we would drive down.  My mother would pay for our wristbands, which entitled us to food and drinks (my son would get the underage band...my mother and I would get the one that entitled us to beer, wine and drinks mixed with Mount Gay Rum, a sponsor).  My mother would grab a table as far away from the band as possible.  (There was always a loud band.)  We would wait for my father to find us.  We'd get finger foods and drinks as racing results were tallied.  But the highlight (sort of) was the throwing of the red hats.  (NOT those red hats!)  

Every year Mount Gay would provide X number of hats. Someone would take the boxes, go to the roof (the lower roof that sheltered the deck) and start tossing.  Competition was fierce.  Injuries did happen. I am NOT kidding.  Hundreds of people (most with alcohol in their stomachs as well as glass in hand) would vie for those hats as they sailed off the roof into the air and headed for the ground below.  I've been told that more than once someone got knocked to the ground.  There may have been a head injury once.  (Or maybe it was twice)  It was a badge of honor to get a red hat.  You wore them with pride that evening and afterwards.  I know I did...at least until red hats got a bad name.  (I'm not talking about Mount Gay Rum.)  I've kept my red hats, but I haven't worn them that much.  I hope in the future I'll feel better about red hats, but...

 I've gotten off topic here...I miss this Saturday.  I miss the party.  I miss the food (somewhat). I miss the drinks.  (Full disclosure:  I always drank too much...my mom drove so that wasn't a problem.  Back then I could really drink.)  I miss the atmosphere.  I miss the bay.  I miss the sailors.  I miss the vibe.  But most of all I miss my parents and being part of this tradition.

 Which brings me to Sunday...the day where we took our son back to college for his 2nd year.  Also the day my late brother should have turned 52. 

 I don't remember the specific day my brother was born, I had, after all, just turned 6 two months earlier.  I do remember the time frame as it was rather frantic.  My mother and brother coming home.  My mother going back to the hospital with an infection.  Starting first grade/full time school.  Moving from one house to another.  All of this happened within a few months’ time.

 We were close, not necessarily in age, for many years.  Although towards the end of his life (how was anyone to know it would be the end?), not quite so much.  He and his wife did their thing and my husband, my son (who was just wrapping up first grade) and I did ours.  My son expresses regret that he didn't get to know my brother.  I remember him holding the door open for neighbors as they came to express their condolences to my parents.

 When it comes to moving my son back to campus, I always think of my brother.  His birthday was always around the time that he moved back to campus.  And we certainly could have used his help with all the stuff that my son took with him.

 

Every year my son panics about getting it all in the car.  Every year we manage.  But having someone like my brother to help out would be nice.  And I think my brother would have really liked my son now that he is older.  (My brother wasn't really into little kids.)  Like my brother, my son is (still) really into Lego.  I got rid of some of my brother's Legos and my son will never let me forget it.  (Hey, there was a time when he wasn't "playing" with them anymore.  How could I know that the urge to build will return?  Maybe I should have...after all my brother enjoyed Lego all his life.)

My son is safely in his new dorm.  My husband and I have returned home.  There is a different feel when our son is not around.  That makes me wistful too.  

It's been a wistful weekend.  I'm a little sad.  I'm a little happy.  I'm A LOT tired. (Moving will do that to you.)  And doesn't that pretty much sum up life in general?