Summertime, Summertime

Summer just isn’t the same when you’re an adult. When I was a kid, it was a big deal. School and studying were over for awhile, and the classmates I saw every day, as well as the teachers who had become so much a part of my life for the past school year, were suddenly no longer in the picture. I liked school and missed it during the summer. Still, I looked forward to the change.

Summer meant hot days cooling off at the beach or the local swimming pool; lots of idle time to read or ride my bike; car trips with my parents and my little sister to San Diego or San Francisco; and some years even a week at summer camp. Often, it also meant seeing my aunts and uncles and cousins from “back east.” When they came to visit, it gave us an excuse to go to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. Other years my dad sent my mom and my sister and I on an airplane to Minnesota for a long visit that included picnics, barbecues, and lake outings with my cousins. But summer always seemed to last longer than all the trips and visits and activities, and it ended with a stretch of idle time that left me bored and eager to return to school in September.

As I became an adult, the coming of summer no longer meant vacation trips and camp and relatives and outdoor activities, but merely the same old routine of work on weekdays and errands on weekends, for my schedule was now dictated by my job, not by the season, the weather, or the school system. Still, I’ve always retained some of that old excitement as the weather starts to warm and banners announcing street fairs, concerts in the park, and beach activities begin to appear. I always felt a tinge of regret when summer ended and I hadn’t taken enough time to enjoy it. Now I’m retired, and I am free to enjoy summer once again. Oh, there is no more summer camp, and my cousins are now grown up and have jobs and families, but the beach is ten minutes away, the days are long and the sunsets are beautiful. Life is good.