As a kid I used to love the summer – the hotter the better. The days were endless and the adventures epic. Cold sodas and lemonades, ice cream, bicycles and roller skates. Camping out in the backyard, Summer camp. Trips to amusement parks. A never-ending whirl of activity.
Now – not so much.
Now it’s praying for fall to arrive, hot coffee, taking the bus to the doctor, camping out in the living room where the air conditioner is, trips to the convenience store. A never-ending whirl of sweat and heat rash.
What happened? Why isn’t summer fun anymore?
I know – I’ve grown up. I have responsibilities. I’m not as limber as I used to be. The other night a swarm of fireflies surrounded me, and I thought I was a goner. Bees, wasps, and hornets find me fascinating. The giant brown spider that lives on my porch has erected a web that would do an architect proud.
And always, when I stick my head out the door, there is that blast-oven rush of hot air. I want to jump back inside to my air-conditioned palace, to relieve the second-degree burns I just acquired.
No, this summer business isn’t for me anymore.
For a while there, a few years ago, I wanted to move to Florida. Land of sunshine and beaches. Wear sandals and T-shirts all year long. No snow. No cold.
Now I see it as the land of heat stroke, of 24/7 air conditioning, of never going out between 10am and 7pm.
Give me a temperate climate – one like oh, say, British Columbia in Canada. The part that’s on the Pacific Ocean. They’ve probably had a couple of snow flurries in the past 2 years, and it disappeared before it hit the ground. The nights are never colder than 40-some degrees, the days never in the 100+ category that we hit once in a while in Wilkes-Barre, PA.
Moderate. I like moderation, now that I’m becoming an old man.
Summer is great when you’re a kid. Now, I’ll take comfort over adventure any day.