Dad's summer

Initially, when my dad called and said, "It's summer, bring the kids over so I can look after them for a few weeks. Staying home glued to your phones all the time is a waste of the summer," I hesitated. My dad was nearly seventy, his steps were slow, and his health wasn't what it used to be. The two kids were the type who would cause trouble whenever they had the chance. But my dad was absolutely certain: "Back in the day, I commanded an entire platoon. Now I have a few grandchildren, what's the big deal?" Hearing that, I understood that I had no choice but to send them to daycare this summer.

So I packed my backpack, filling it with everything from mosquito repellent to candy, crayons, and school supplies, and took the kids to their grandparents' house, where a banyan tree provided shade in the front yard, a fan clattered in the summer heat, and their grandfather was waiting for them with a "summer activity rules" that he had written himself... in his head.

On the very first day, he declared clearly: "There's no playing on your phone all day here. Get up before 6:30 in the morning. After waking up, fold your blankets, brush your teeth, and sweep the yard. After eating, study or draw. In the afternoon, you can play outdoors. Anyone who misbehaves won't get ice cream tomorrow." My children stared at him wide-eyed as if they had just met... the leader of a cadet training camp. I stifled a laugh, said goodbye to the kids, and drove home, still feeling a little worried.

But after just two weeks, everything was back to normal. The kids got used to the routine without even realizing it. Every morning, their father would send me photos via Zalo: one of them folding blankets, another hunched over sweeping the yard, and sometimes the grandfather and grandchildren sitting together picking vegetables and drying beans on the porch. Looking at that scene, I felt both amused and a little touched, the kind of affection an adult feels when they suddenly realize that their children's summer is being relived in the simplest way: no TV, no phones; just plants, the smell of the earth, the birdsong, and their grandfather.

Now the kids have truly become his "favorite soldiers." Every morning they do exercises under the banyan tree. He shouts, "One - two - three - four!", and the kids obediently follow along. At noon, he reads fairy tales, or tells stories from his time in the army—all old stories I used to hear all the time when I was a child, but now when he tells them again, the kids listen as if they were mythical tales.

In the afternoons, the children would water the plants, pick vegetables, play tag, or badminton. One day, I called my eldest son and he proudly told me, "Mom, I just learned how to fold clothes like a soldier with Grandpa!" I chuckled, but felt a great weight lifted from my heart. Because I myself had experienced a similarly "strict" summer under my father's command. Back then, I hated it and wanted to avoid him. But now that I'm older, I understand that thanks to those habits, I've learned to be tidy, polite, and not leave dishes scattered after meals.

One day I went to visit, and as soon as I reached the gate, I heard him gently scold me: "You've thrown your slippers around again! You have to be tidy when you come to my house, remember that!"

The youngest girl mumbled, "I forgot..."

He replied curtly, "Forgetfulness is a chronic disease of lazy people. Next time, remember to be tidy!"

I couldn't help but laugh when I saw it, but it also warmed my heart. My father is old, but the way he teaches his grandchildren is still full of spirit, still humorous, and still effective.

I remember once asking my dad, "Aren't you tired, looking after those mischievous grandchildren every day?" He replied nonchalantly, "Of course I'm tired. But it's fun. Besides, summer is a chance for the kids to grow up a little."

After hearing that, I didn't say anything more, only thinking that summer isn't just for resting, but also a time to learn things no school teaches: how to live neatly, how to love nature, how to listen, how to be considerate, and even how to wake up early without frowning.

This summer, there were no beach trips or tours . But for the children, it was the most memorable summer ever, because they got to live with their grandfather, and each day was a new experience, a new lesson. There were no online learning apps, just their grandfather, his broom, his hoe, his cup of tea, and countless stories filled with love.

My children are now used to their grandfather's "summer rules." They no longer frown every morning when woken up early, nor do they whine for the phone like they did at first. They've started occasionally reminding me: "Grandpa, can we water the plants tomorrow?" or "Grandpa, please continue telling us your stories about being in the army tonight." As for me, in the afternoons after work, the road to my father's house suddenly feels more familiar. Sometimes, just stopping by, watching the children play in the yard, and seeing him sitting with his legs crossed on a chair drinking tea, makes me feel much lighter.

This summer, the kids get to stay with their grandfather, or rather, they get to stay in the memories of my own childhood, when my father was also the "commander-in-chief" of another kind of childhood.

Ha Linh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202507/mua-he-cua-bo-63108dc/