Summer summer summertiiiime
- Wade
I was thinking on my ride in about writing the gambit. Topic: politicians and how they suppress that slimy trail behind them whenever they go anywhere. The latest episode? Ooops, looks like we should have read that conceal-and-carry bill before we passed it. Can we change it now? The Democrats said... no. Y'all were in such a hurry to get this bill through, let's leave it the way you wanted it. Kind of a childish attitude, but this is politics we're talking about. So now, if my church wants to prohibit guns, we'll need to both post a sign saying "No guns allowed" and verbally inform people as they enter the building. Just the kind of way you want to greet people.
BUT.
Who wants to hear me gab about politics anyway? You can feel that summer is in the air, not far off. Although fall is easily my favorite season, summer comes in a close second. It's probably residual, coming from those first 21 years of life when summer meant no school, and taking it easy. Unfortunately, those days are over. (Well, at least for the non-teachers among us.) What made summer so great?
Sleeping in. Oh, how glorious. I worked at the Austin Municipal Pool for three summers in college, and the earliest I was ever scheduled to work was 11 a.m. Oh, occasionally I needed to come in early Saturday morning to clean. Early at that point, of course, meant 8 a.m.
Staying out late. Related to the above bullet. Since there was no real reason to get up early, why would anyone in his/her right mind go to bed before 2? During college, we'd generally have band practice until late. In high school, we'd drive aimlessly around the streets of Austin, listening to Metallica or Pearl Jam. Doesn't sound very exciting, but it was great at the time.
Basketball. Little-known fact about yours truly-- I played hours of driveway basketball during high-school summers. I wasn't good and didn't get any better, but that was my form of entertainment. I'd turn on my Dad's radio and listen to 106.9 (top 40) or 96.1 ("hard" rock) and throw up shot after shot. (Always pausing to listen to Paul Harvey at noon. Yes, I was a radio geek even then.) I attribute my cat-like reflexes to the fact that our driveway was gravel, not paved. You never knew where that ball was going.
Vacation. Growing up, this usually meant going "up north" (of course) to my Grandma's cabin in Longville, MN. My aunt and uncle had a cabin right next door so my extended family was everywhere. I spent many weeks up there during the summers between '83 and '94-- hard to argue with being on a lake, speeding around in the boat, nature, relaxation... aaah. My parents and I did drive to South Dakota in 1989, which was also fun-- except for me being carsick the entire time we were in the Black Hills. *barf*
Carefree. That's not quite the right word, but let me explain... During the summer, I could be as carefree as I possibly could be. No homework. Nothing hard to do at work. No bills to pay. No stress. No responsibility, really. That would always start up again when September came around, but during the summer? Nada. My worries consisted of (chronologically) setting up G.I. Joe forts, what time I was meeting friends at the pool, how many weeks should I spend up at the lake, what time I had to work at the pool, will I remember the words to "867-5309" by Tommy Tutone.... you know, the important stuff in life
You know, being a teacher doesn't sound that bad. :)
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