I Remember Summer

I remember summer. I remember when summer really meant something to me…school was out (finally!) and the skies were bright and crystal blue and a whole world of amazing adventure beckoned with all of the time in the world to indulge it.

The kids in the neighborhood…my brother, my cousins, the kids from down the street, and the kids from around the corner…gathered (usually in our front yard) and we were off…raising heck (we were too well-behaved…and too wary of our parents…to raise hell), running and laughing and jumping and swimming and biking and dancing with all of our seemingly boundless youthful energy.

We would entertain ourselves while only stepping foot inside long enough to wolf down lunch and grab some new item with which casual childhood magic could be woven once taken out into the sunshine.

I remember summer. Saturday mornings were reserved for cartoons, Sunday mornings were reserved (by our mothers) for Sunday School, and most of the other daylight hours were ours to do with as we would. And, in those gentler times, we did everything we could imagine totally safe and secure in the streets and alleyways and front yards of our remarkably verdant Los Angeles neighborhood.

Yeah, summer…I remember when summer really meant something to me…