How Summer Lets Us Recapture Our Youth NOBODY WANTS TO GROW UP!
W hen I was a kid, I spent almost every Friday of the summer at the Doral Arrowwood hotel in Rye Brook, New York. The rooms were so familiar that they felt like a second home. When dinnertime came, my dad pulled the hotel desk between our two queen beds to make a dining room table, and my brother, sister, and I sat around it with our legs dangling over the bed skirts. Mom fished the food she’d prepared at home out of our cooler and warmed it up on a hot plate balanced over the room’s kitchen sink. Then, she ladled out portions for the five of us. We joked, laughed, and told stories as we dug in. That’s how the David family ate our fabulous Shabbat Friday night dinners all summer — sitting on comforters around a hotel desk!
It all seemed normal to me then, but looking back, the Doral was a funny spot for a family to stay. During the week, its massive conference center bustled with pharmaceutical executives and real estate developers. But on weekend nights, the businessmen sped home, and the hotel sat nearly empty, with just 150 people wandering its 114 acres. No wonder they used a $99-per-night rate to lure families like ours from New York City! The Doral was our little escape from the sweltering heat of the city streets, where there wasn’t much to do other than untwist the neighborhood fire hydrant and let water sprinkle out down the block. At the Doral, we could explore the massive hotel property and feel the breeze in our hair. It was
my favorite place on earth apart from day camp — an oasis a bus ride away where I spent years as a camper and then a lifeguard. The camp sat at the edge of the Long Island Sound, so I spent endless summer days on the beach. The other campers and I raced in speed boats and banana boats, played tennis and basketball, and experimented with archery until we were exhausted. But the best thing about camp was the one day each summer when a baseball player from the Mets or Yankees would show up to shake hands, take photos, and sign autographs. Rumors flew every summer
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