I’m at an Inn in Vermont trying to think of something to write. I’m up here with my fraternity friends. I’m sitting in my room while they’re putting their children to bed. It’s not an easy task and I respect that they have to do it every night.

I remember having to go to bed as a kid. I resented it because, like all children going to bed at a reasonable time, I wasn’t tired. I wanted to stay up because clearly something incredibly cool was about to happen and I was going to miss it.

My parents didn’t entertain much when I was a kid but I do remember one party being held at our house that went on until adult hours. I had to go to bed but I remember the muffled adult voices downstairs. I had no idea what they were talking about but it must have been amazing adult things. I kept sneaking out of my room to sit at the top of the stairs to watch and listen. My mother kept catching me and putting me back to bed.

Now I’m the adult at that party. I’m the muffled voice rising through the floorboards to children who should be asleep.

I remember going to Lake Harmony in the Poconos for my annual summer trip with my cousins. I always wanted to stay up late then. All five of us did. It was the one time a year that I had family my age around. My great aunt Nena did something when it was time for bed that always confounded me as a kid. She always used to say, “I think it’s time for Lily White’s Party.”

It was an old expression I assume meant going to sleep on white sheets. But it had the word “party” in it and that always gave me this false sense of hope. “Okay, wait, I know it’s bed time. We have to go to bed. And I’m pretty sure that’s an expression. But, still, she said ‘party.’ You all heard her. So, I’m thinking – hear me out here – that there’s a slight chance we’re having a party.”

There was never a party. God I hated that expression.