How do I explain summer growing up? One simply does not one pick one definition.
Summer was my sister's best friend from down the street coming over and making hundreds of Miis. It was also the two of them making agility courses for the dog made of pillows.
Summer was golf tournaments on in the background. It was afternoons watching Spongebob and making fun of the infomercials in between, tearing them apart and figuring out reasons why they wouldn't work while also enjoying the satisfying imagery. It was also secretly enjoying the wholesome antics of Toucan Sam, Apple and Cinnamon, and the Charmin bears in between episodes.
But in our old house, summer was Domino's Pizza on the brick patio, with a knife and fork, and chicken kickers in blue cheese sauce. It was visiting our grandparents' old house, playing "going to the moon" on the blue swing that hung from the tree. Summer was the big pink balls, one for each of us, that we rolled around. It was sitting on the glider on the screened-in porch while playing with Grandma's robin eggs that sat in their little nest. It was gazing at the lazy-L-shaped pool next door wanting a pool of my own.
When we inherited the glider, soon summer nights became nights for sitting out and playing Super Mario Brothers 3 for the Game Boy Advance with my sister and cracking up as he died and cried, "Oh, mamma mia!" It became catching lightning bugs and bringing them inside. Summer nights were bringing them inside which we ate grape and cherry Popsicles with punch lines on the end of the stick. Early summer nights were my sister not being able to read her punch line and her simply saying: "Go bus."
If the weather was good, summer was going our to own pool too and, if you were lucky, getting ice cream from the snack bar. It was saying hi to the grandmother who scanned our badges on the way in. If you were lucky, it meant buying an ice cream bar. If the weather was bad, summer was typing out stories on the basement computer in Word.
Summer was a week spent on the Jersey Shore---not Atlantic City or Cape May, but Manasquan and Point Pleasant. It was soft sand and salty smelling waves with high tides that chased beachgoers and their towels. It was fireworks on Thursday night and digging holes in the sandy yard of our beachfront rental. It was riding the "fish ride" and playing skee ball on the boardwalk, then hitting up the fireman's carnival at the park. It was pinball and Spider Stompin' at the arcade.
Summer was camp. Usually a creative writing program, but for about six years it was also a program on a high school campus. We were the guinea pigs of the program, three friends and I, getting to choose our own activities a few times a day; nature walks, newspaper writing, and outings to Color Me Mine.
Summer was exciting.
And then summer became dull. Sitting around doing nothing turned into back to school sales, fresh smelling piney pencils and notebook paper. Summer was organizing binders and sharpening pencils and calling parents to figure out who was in whose class this year and finding out via letter who your own teacher was.
Summer was over. And it was anticipated once again.
