Summer Days

Today's post comes from the writing prompt at The One Minute Writer .  If you are unfamiliar with this site-check it out the next time you are lacking inspiration for your own blog or writing.  Each day, a new prompt is listed, and you are supposed to spend one minute, writing freely about that topic.  Of course, me being me, it took me more than a minute just to write out this explanation, so you KNOW it's going to take me more than a minute once I finally get around to writing what I actually came here to write about. 

Two "fun facts" for you about me if you haven't been here long: 1.  I pretty much always waste spend at least a paragraph telling you all about what I'm going to be telling you before I actually tell you.  Got that? It's the teacher in me, I guess. 2.  I'm a rule bender.  I don't break laws (unless you count speeding, which I totally pretend not to), and I believe that rules are a good thing, however, I bend them to suit my needs, and generally feel pretty justified in doing so.  So now, the point of this post...because, remember? I told you there was going to be one...

I've always loved summer.  Long, sunny warm days, that seem carefree, even though as an adult, I work on many of these days.  Thinking of school starting in less than a month gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, even though it's not me that will be going back to school.  I just love the laziness of summer-not having to get my kids up and rushed out the door in the morning, not having to make them do homework when I fell like they should be relaxing and playing outside after a busy day of learning...

As a little kid, I remember getting up in the morning, pulling on my hand-me-down, Incredible Hulk green Toughskins cut off shorts, a polyester striped shirt (hey, it was the late 70's, early 80's!), and flip flops (which we innocently called "thongs" back then), and heading outside to ride my Big Wheel.  I loved my Big Wheel so much-I really do wish they made them for grown ups! Usually, I'd ride with Charlie, the little kid down the street.  He was kind of mean, and younger than me, and peed on trees a lot, but he really liked me, and was afraid of my Mom, so it was all good.  Plus, he was pretty much the only kid around to play with, most of the time.

Charlie and I would ride up and down the sidewalk, racing each other, purposely crashing into each other, and usually, pretending we were the Dukes of Hazard.  Sometimes we were CHiPS, but only when Jeffrey, the CHiPs obsessed kid down the street joined in, but that wasn't often.  (I still remember Jeffrey's CHiPS themed orange big wheel...)  We'd take turns playing Bo or Luke, or Enos or Roscoe. Yeah, I'm a girl, but really, Daisy was no fun to play-she just wasn't very bright, and we knew that. One of us would chase the other down the street, ram in to the back of the other's Big Wheel, and then the person in front would flip over their vehicle, pretending to be "crashed."  As I recall, the storyline didn't go much beyond the chasing and crashing, although occasionally, stolen "money", that was actually dried out grass clippings, was involved.

After tiring of this, we'd  usually head to his house or mine for some Kool Aid, then run to the nearest swingset, where we'd play Kool Aid-mustached circus acrobats, airplane pilots or house, until Charlie did something mean and made me mad. I'd go inside for a while and pout, and then later, we'd meet up again-either Big Wheeling, or climbing the crab apple tree in my front yard.  That tree was many things-sometimes it was the Duke's farm house, other times it was a house for our dolls (when I could talk him into it, and yes, when a boy's best friend is a little girl, chances are, he'll own at least one doll, no matter how masculine he is, or how many trees he pees on), or a Star Wars ship (when he could talk me into it).  We spent lots of time jumping out of that tree, or swinging from a branch, trying to impress each other (unsucessfully) with our fancy tricks.

Although I don't really miss Charlie, or watching him pee in random places (what WAS that about , anyway?), I do kind of miss those carefree sunny days, when I could play all day, and not have to think about when my next bowl of Spaghetti-O's would be served.  I could pedal along, hearing the pleasing sound of my Big Wheel "roaring" down the side walk, getting suntanned (no one worried about skin cancer back then), scraped up and mosquito bitten.  Life was good, and this was kid-life at it's best!

The kids in the pictures are a (pre-Charlie era) 4 year old me, and my husband.  Don't you love my knee socks, Mom-made outfit, and "don't mess with me and my cool hawg" scowl?

My Second Grade Lovelife

Second grade was a good year for me, boyfriend-wise.  In fact, I had the admiration of more males at the ages of 7 and 8, than I did for the whole rest of my school career.  While the rest of my elementary school, junior high, and heck, even high school years were filled with 99% unrequited crushes, I had the boys swarming around me back in Mrs. Alverson's class at South Elementary School.

As a very shy little girl, I no longer cried everyday to go home, like I did in first grade.  I was a little more confident socially, although I was the youngest in the class, and most kids treated me as if I were a younger sibling.  Our teacher was an older lady (or at least, she seemed that way at the time, because I think she's still teaching almost thirtCOUGH*COUGH years later), and she either overlooked a lot of things that went on in the class, or had a high tolerance level.

Many of us would draw or color pictures in our spare time, and then sell them to each other for pennies, nickels, or, if you were a really good artist, quarters.  We would advertise our art sales during work time, with handwritten signs, written on notebook paper, scrap paper, or manila drawing paper.  We'd hold the signs high up in the air, and wait for our classmates to come to our sales.  Looking back, I can't believe our teacher let us do this, although I do remember the day when an aid stepped in to watch our class, and put a stop to our booming art careers.

My friend Chip would write me love notes, usually asking me to meet him at the Ramada Inn (for dinner, people!), with the ubiquitous check yes or no boxes.  Nearly every day, he or Steven, his 8 year old nemesis, would write me a love note of some sort, which I would take home and put in a pink and white gingham, heart shaped valentine candy box that my Grandma had given me.  I wish I had kept those notes, but they are long gone.

Chip, Steven and I would spend our recesses playing Dallas.  The television show.  I'm really not sure why any of us, especially me, were allowed to watch Dallas, but we did-things were different back then.  This one particular jungle gym, which I can still picture, was our Southfork Ranch.  I was Sue Ellen Ewing, and Chip and Steven fought constantly over who would be JR and Bobby.  Naturally, the "who shot JR" theme was played out many times over.  Occasionally, other kids would join in to play the parts of Miss Ellie, Jaques, and whatever Bobby's wife's name was.

Another boy, Shannon, slipped me a ring during reading group one day.  I believe the ring came with a marriage proposal.  You know, because everyone gets engaged in second grade, right?  Looking back, Shannon probably swiped the ring from a sister or his mother.  But I never gave it back. It was a real silver spoon ring.  (As in, made out of an actual silver spoon-if you aren't old enough to remember these, then you are probably really confused right now.) I wonder whatever happened to that ring? It might be worth something!

I apparently really had it going on back then, because there were two other fellows who sought out my attention that year.  There was Frank, who used to try to convince me to kiss him.  He told me that he'd hold up his red Reading folder so no one would see us.  Sorry Frank.  However, I did kiss another boy, behind the shed in my backyard.  Obviously, it was just an innocent quick peck, but word got around school that I kissed this boy, and well....let's just say that was a bad social decision for me to make at that time. Or any time. That bad decision followed me to fifth grade, where the whole story got brought up again, causing me, and perhaps him, great humiliation and stress.  Fifth graders can be such cruel little snots. I'm still not over it, though.

Where are all these fine Casanovas now? Well, one of them is serving life in prison, one of them lives in another city with his boyfriend (I tend to have that effect on the fellas), and the others? Who knows.  One is probably either a lawyer, or sitting on his butt playing video games in his Mom's basement (it's a toss-up, really), and the other two, I don't recall seeing since elementary school. 

I didn't have any boyfriends in junior high, I never attended a Homecoming dance, and I only went to one of my Proms.  I was pretty much off the radar of the boys in my class at that time. Most Friday and Saturday nights were spent at home, or with my boyfriend-less friends. Too bad they didn't have a Homecoming dance in second grade, because I would have owned it!