When I was a child, “home for the summer” meant that respite from school – June right on through to the week after Labor Day, that golden time of endless fun in the sun. Summer meant later lights out at night, reading in the shade of the back yard trees, and chasing fireflies at night with my friends in the neighborhood. There were the annual trips to visit my mother’s aunt in North Weymouth, Massachusetts, where a year’s worth of paper dolls awaited, saved for me by Great–Aunt Bess from the Boston Globe. There were long hot days at the New Jersey shore – running on sizzling feet into the cold water of the ocean – trips to amusement parks where I’d watch my older brother test his skill shooting with an air gun at moving targets, visits from relatives, and lazy days when there was nothing more to do than watch the clouds go by. When I was in college, “home for the summer” meant catching up with my friends from high school, revisiting old hangouts and renewing old friendships. There were summer jobs and trips to the beach, and reading something other than textbooks. For the characters in…