“It’s time to go to ‘Tuesday group’ guys,” I said to the boys while preparing to leave for my weekly faith-sharing group.
There weren’t any protests from the peanut gallery, but as we walked together toward the door of the church where we gather, Adam began questioning whether I’d gotten the day right.
“You sure it’s Tuesday?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” I said.
“How do you know?” he probed.
“Well, yesterday was Monday.”
“Oh,” he said, pausing for thought. “Well, I guess I don’t really know what day it is when there’s no school.”
Words from a guy newly emerged from his first year of kindergarten; a guy who has, in his innocence, touched on the power of routine to direct our lives, as well as the lovely feeling of having been let loose from that routine and thrust into another kind of life. It is a life so leisurely that we are allowed to, for three short months, lose track on occasion of just where we are at in the week.
And so it is that, in having questioned whether it is Monday or Tuesday, we have come to know that “summer” has, indeed, arrived.
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