For many years every summer we took a family vacation to Lake Geneva College Camp. My brother and I went to the kid's programs in the morning, where we did arts and crafts and archery, but the best part of the vacation came later in the day when the family was together.

We would swim in the afternoons. When Mom wasn't in the water, she sat on the pier wearing her big straw hat, in the middle of a nest of beach towels and books. I dove off the diving board over and over. When I came up, I shook the water out of my ears and looked for Mom. I was always so pleased when I saw her.

Sometimes after dinner we would go out in a rowboat. Mom liked to sit in the front of the boat, leaning back and facing us. Dad sat in the back, where he would smoke his cigar and give Paul and me rowing tips This was before Lake Geneva was filled with motorboats. It was very peaceful out on the lake. The setting sun turned the water purple and gold. The oars dipped into the flat water, mixing the colors and making rainbows. We were always the last people to bring in our boat.

On the nights we didn't go out in the boat, we would fish off the end of the pier. Dad put the worms on our hooks and his face lit up every time Mom, Paul or I pulled in a fish. We fished until it got so dark we couldn't see our bobbers. Then we went to the snack bar, The College Inn. They had the best chocolate milkshakes in the world. I drank mine in tiny little sips, trying to make it last. I wanted summer to last forever and things to never change.

From Martha Senn Rubenstein