The summer that carried a legacy

Summer has its own kind of magic. It arrives with sunshine and slowness, laughter and lemonade, fireflies and festivals. It gives us permission to pause, to step outside of routines and create memories that glow a little brighter than the rest of the year. For me, every summer holds a little joy, a little adventure, and a lot of family – but this year’s summer is something else entirely. This year, summer became larger than life.

You see, my dad is visiting Canada.

It may sound like a simple sentence, but for our family, it’s a milestone. My dad – my superhero, our storyteller, the keeper of our family’s laughter and values – is visiting my brother here in Canada. That means for the first time in what feels like forever, we get to experience something rare and beautiful: togetherness across generations, across borders, in real-time and real hugs.

For many years, our memories with Papa have been created through phone calls, video chats, or short, rushed visits. But this summer, I get to sit beside him instead of seeing him on a screen. I get to watch my daughters share jokes with their grandfather. I get to sit at the dinner table and hear his stories – the same ones we’ve heard a hundred times – but this time, I don’t roll my eyes. I lean in. I treasure them. Because some stories are meant to be told a hundred more times when they’re passed from one generation to the next.

This summer, I realized that memory-making isn’t just about snapping a perfect photo or planning the grandest outing. Sometimes, it’s watching your dad slowly sip his morning tea while humming an old song. It’s walking together to the local market, pointing out how the produce looks different here than back home. It’s noticing how he still folds his handkerchief just so, or how he always remembers to offer the last bite to someone else before taking it himself.

Summer gave me that. It gave me a front-row seat to rediscover my dad – not just as my father, but as a human being with his own quiet rituals and childhood dreams, as a man who’s lived through decades and still manages to greet each new day with patience and grace.

 

 

And my daughters? They’ve been soaking up their grandfather’s presence in a way that no screen could replicate. They ask him to retell family stories, beg for homemade recipes, and giggle when he tries to keep up with their dance moves. He, in turn, lights up with a joy I haven’t seen in years – as if being here, being surrounded by his children and grandchildren, has added a new spark to his step.

Sometimes, we wait for the “big” moments to define our lives – the trips, the ceremonies, the celebrations. But this summer, I’ve realized the biggest moments can be incredibly simple: a shared meal, a spontaneous backyard cricket match, the warm silence of a shared sunset.

We often say time flies, but this summer, I wanted time to walk. I wanted it to linger, to stretch its arms and stay a little longer – just like my dad has. Because I know when the leaves start turning and the cool breeze returns, so will the distance. But this season? This chapter? It’s ours.

In a world that moves so fast, summer reminded me to slow down and savor. To savor stories, flavors, laughter, and presence. To celebrate the now. And this summer – this magical, memory-making, legacy-laced summer – gave me a gift I will never forget: the chance to be a daughter again, to be a bridge between generations, and to create a moment larger than life.

Because some memories aren’t just made – they are lived.

And this summer? We lived it fully.

Pooja Thakkar is working to build connections through cuisine. You can read her column each week in the pages of The Reporter.