June, July, August…those summer months. They are the ones every school kid and teacher looks forward to. They are also the ones parents dread. I always celebrated my last day of school. One year, I think it was fourth grade, I remember well. I took my hard cover notebook filled to the brim with papers onto the middle of the playground. I opened it up, and threw all the papers into the air. It was a windy day. Like trained pigeons, they all flew back to school. The next day a friend of mine and I went to the school for somewhere to go. We wandered by the shrubbery next to the building. It was covered with papers. Casually, out of curiosity, we looked at the papers. They all had my name on them, each and every one. Now, over 40 years later, they might still be there.
Eighth grade had an important final day. It was my last day at Stevenson Elementary School. The following September I would be going to Bogan High School. I spent that summer in complete fright and worry. I feared heading into secondary school. I thought I was the only person in the world with hairs appearing in odd places. This, combined with the rumors (which turned out to be true) that we all swam naked, added to my constant consternation.
My older brother dutifully filled me with high school horror stories. Later I learned that there was not an actual 'punch a freshman in the face day.'
Summer memories go beyond the school years though. A few years ago I was in Athens, Greece. I had an overnight layover on my way to Samos, Greece for a creativity workshop. I took a bus to downtown Athens to explore. In the middle of the city, the bus stopped and the driver announced, "Strike. Everyone off bus." I looked for a train. I said the word for train from my Greek phrase book. I think I mispronounced it. I said it to a young woman and she screamed and ran. I went to a street vendor and made a train sound and pretended to be a train. He mimicked my mimicking and pointed to a train station.
Summer brings sunburns. I am of Irish, Scottish, French, and German ancestry. Basically, I am filled with the worst type of skin for gaining a suntan. My skin will turn red. I'll be in utter pain. Then the mad itching. Then it turns white again. I don't avoid the sun. However, I gave up lying under it in the hopes of turning bronze.
One summer, for the 4th of July, I was in Arizona. You don't understand the concept of HEAT until you have been in Arizona in the middle of summer. One local saw my sweat and struggle with the over 100 degrees inferno. He said, "But it's a dry heat at least." I kneed him in the nuts and said, "But it's a dull pain at least."
I don't know what future memories this summer will hold for me. I'll start exploring now. I hope there are no bus strikes and no sunburns.
