We ran barefoot, looked for strawberries in the grass and made sand cakes. Girls knitted bows from grass, boys drew with charcoal on fences. And in the evening, when the sky turned crimson, we returned home, where grandmother's soup was waiting for us.
There were no expensive toys there, but there was happiness. There was a feeling that every day was an adventure.
Sometimes I look at my son and think: how can we give him such a childhood in a world that has changed so much?
Maybe it's not about technology, but about whether we allow ourselves to be real.
Because I want him to remember what his summer smelled like someday. And that there is something of me in that smell.