Days of 1983

A Summertime Essay

by

Lorien Alise Hall

*****

June was always my favorite summer month as a boy. When the last bell rang, and the last math assignment was turned in, my soul felt as if it would burst with the anticipation of summer. The anticipation of freedom.

June meant green. I loved green. Spring blossoms had come and gone, and the leaves were now in full form, filling the streets and parks with canopies; canopies to rest under - canopies to rest in.

June meant getting around town on my bike, two or three friends in tow. I was always in the lead. Occasionally we would stop by Jeffrey's house for a tall glass of iced tea and a wonder bread sandwich of peanut butter and marshmallow cream. Those were the days.

Mama's cookin' was always better in June, fresh and light. The vegetables were almost sweet and every once in a while we had the luck of eating fried chicken. It was Mama's cookin' that brought me home each evening.

If Mama's cookin' was sweet, then Pop's barbecuing was swell. I loved June evenings out on the back patio. Grilled chicken, corn on the cob, pork and beans, and cool lemonade.

Lemonade was my June nectar. Mama always made it from scratch and she new how to make it just as I liked it. Not too sweet and not too sour.

If I wasn't out gallivanting around in the late afternoons, one would find me on our front porch. Me, my tall glass of lemonade, and my thoughts. Mama always thought it strange that I would only drink my lemonade out of a clear glass. Lemonade just tasted better than way.

At night I would fall asleep to the sounds of crickets chirping in the distance. It was simple music that always put a soft smile on my face as I closed my eyes and hoped for filling dreams. Sometimes I would be allowed to sleep out on the deck, or if I was real lucky, out on the back lawn. It was then that all thoughts seemed to disappear as I gazed up at the chandelier of stars above me. The universe was so incomprehensible, and yet I felt at home in it. The stars always seemed so close.

The sound of a mower on a Saturday morning, dragonflies in the late afternoon, and the warbling of birds all day long are all June to me. I loved to feel the coolness of the grass beneath my feet - it breathed life into my being. I preferred running around barefoot in the summer. Pop always said it was my own doin' whenever I stubbed a toe and came in complainin'. He said that's what shoes are for.

Every week, when the Saturday chores were done and the yard and garden looked like a picture, Pop always took us kids down the road for a shake. The shakes always tasted better when I was with Pop.

June meant getting older. Although I surely didn't feel any older. June 11, a fine day for a birthday, and I always thought it so fortunate as to have my birthday in the same month that happened to be my favorite. I never did have a favorite type of birthday cake, there were too many to chose from. But whatever Mama baked was delicious, and I always got a second piece.

June was always my favorite summer month as a boy. When the last bell rang, and the last math assignment was turned in, my soul felt as if it would burst with the anticipation of summer....

the anticipation of freedom...