Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you. Erma Bombeck
Today is Summer Solstice, the first day of summer. As a person who does not do well in the heat, I must comment that it seems summer began mid-spring this year. Flowers and budding bushes or trees all unfolded earlier than usual and were joyfully welcomed by all. Now, however, there is a lack of rain too early for this coming hot season.
Summer offers children freedom from school and homework; sprinklers or swimming pools; sleeping in or staying up a bit later; sleep overs; visits to relatives; and special summer camps. My childhood summers were filled with roller skating, playing dress up with old curtains, riding bikes, hopscotch, endless board games or card games, jump rope and sitting under the street lamp waiting for "Jo Jo" the Good Humor Man to jangle his ice cream truck's bells.
Once it was dark and we grew tired of catching fire flies, we all returned to our respective homes. Sticky from a long day of play in the hot sun, a nice long bath washed all of the ice cream streaks and dirt away. Clean sheets from the clothes line and fresh pajamas were the perfect ending to a long hot day of play.
In the summer night, my bedroom window would be open and through the screen I could smell the lilac bush outside. I could hear the music from the carousal from Kiddie Land several blocks away. I could also hear cheers from crowds at Thillens Little League as scoring runs were batted in.
There was something peaceful about a summer night. Maybe having the window open let me feel connected to the great world outside. I would fall asleep knowing the beautiful stars were twinkling brightly and the magical moon gently crossed the sky. I was certain they would be there again for me night after night, hanging in the summer sky.
