By Karen Galarpe

 

I was one of those who, growing up, almost always had some class to attend during summer vacation. There were many summers spent learning piano and the organ, and one time, when karaoke became ‘in’ in the 80s, I also enrolled in voice lessons in UP.

I remember a summer when my friend and I took tennis lessons, another summer I had driving lessons, and one brave summer day when I attended one jazz dance class. I never came back, convinced I am better off reading or writing about dance.

There was a time too that I took a speedreading and speech workshop, then ahem, a personality development course the next. Many years later, a lesson from that personality development course became handy as I taught my officemates how to eat a banana using a fork. My officemates thought I was crazy.

So when my son came along, he also got enrolled in summer activities throughout the years. At 3, he had his first summer course, a sort of preparation to nursery class (he finished toddler class earlier). After that, there were summers when he was enrolled in swimming, taekwondo, basketball, football, reading, and math.

As in my case, there were classes he refused to enroll in again the next summer. But looking back, those summer classes were worth it as they brought new experiences, new friends, new lessons learned.

The last class I attended for summer was two years ago, I think, a workshop on writing biographies.

Maybe I should finally take that cooking class. Or Pilates. Or chocolate making. Mmmm… the options are getting better.

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