Summer Angst
Life as an adult gradually blurs a person’s childhood memories. Routines and responsibilities play a wicked role in stealing them from you. But memories aren’t the only thing lost to adulthood so are the feelings that once coursed through your body like fast pumping blood. I remember the thrill of holding a ten dollar bill and imagining it bringing the world to my feet. When that girl I so adored looked at me, nothing else filled so filled me with excitement. I recall when my birthday really mattered and Christmas held wonder.
Above everything else was waking on a summer morning with nothing crowding my day. “What’s next? Maybe breakfast? Or do bother to dress first? I wonder what’s on tv?”
I had a bike and could ride from one end of my home town in Dakota Territory to the other. My destination was often Greg’s house. Greg’s mother still cooked gigantic portions (Greg had a bevy of older sisters) and was generous enough to feed the likes of me. He also had a computer which at that time was still something of a novelty.
So here’s the story…Twelve and thirteen year old boys are sometimes incapable of seeing the consequences of their actions. Their eyes are blind to the subtle angst of those around them and if they aren’t told directly they may never come to understand.
Case in point: Nothing was more enjoyable than spending hours at the Southside Pool in Dickinson, Dakota Territory. Greg and I would many times go swimming immediately after lunch (What cramps? I still don’t get it? Are they an urban myth?), journey back to Greg’s house for supper, then go night swimming. Why not? We didn’t have anything else to do. Only after the sun had finally drifted below the horizon would I wheel my bike home. Too exhausted to shower or bathe, I would collapse in my bed and sleep without the pester of an alarm clock.
When the next morning arrived, I would do it all over again. What was the point in showering? I soaked for hours in a pool filled with chlorine! All week long I would go through the same procedure: eat, swim, bike, and sleep. As it turned out, I only bathed on Sunday mornings for church. I lived in my swimming trunks. Being twelve is GREAT!
Something cosmic occurred two summers in a row. Even now I have a hard time believing it was mere coincidence. On the last day of the Southside Pool’s summer swim schedule, I tore my swimming trunks going off the diving board. The trunks had worn so thin that the material (synthetic as it was) simply could not hold any longer. I remember coming up from both of those last dives and carefully swimming over to Greg.
“Geesh Matt, what was that? It sounded like you ripped one.”
Through gritted teeth I replied, “I did but it wasn’t gas Greg. My trunks ripped!”
Greg’s eyes widened a bit. “Really? Wow again!? Didn’t that happen last summer? I guess we’d better go get some supper huh?”
“Yep, it looks like summer vacation is over.”
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