Halcyon

I was ready for summer. Nine months of a joyless Second Grade had taken its toll and I was ready for freedom and adventure. This would be the last summer I'd spend without seeing any of my classmates. All but Richie Hearn and Tommy Moore lived on the other side of Glassboro Road and across the railroad tracks; for now my parents wouldn't let me out that far on my own. I might see one or two of them at the lake, but for the most part my playmates for the summer would be my brother Carl and our next door neighbor Paul Avis. I might see Tommy Madden once in a while, but he was getting older, heading for Fourth Grade, and hanging around with a little kid like me wasn't cool anymore. Mark Gerber might play Wiffle Ball with us, but even he began to disappear from my life; closing in on his teen age years.
Once again our little corner of Woodbury Heights would be my world of imagination, only this time my friends would be real. Dad wouldn't have to ask my mother who I was talking to out there; it wouldn't just be me and all the voices I made up for my imaginary friends; it would be Carl and Paul following my lead.
We would be Rogers Rangers fighting the French and Indian War in the woods. I would drill Paul and my brother, making them march in close order and stand at attention as I inspected their muskets made of stout sturdy sticks that fell from the trees.
The movies were my inspiration, we fought at Pork Chop Hill, searched for The Northwest Passage and battled the pirates of Treasure Island. We screamed like Tarzan in the trees and crossed the prairies in our own Wagon Train.
The Avis' picnic table would make a good Sherman tank, I thought, so I made plans to board up the sides and cut a hole in the top for our turret made out of an old barbecue grill, but no, I wasn't allowed to go that far, so our imaginations had to make do.
We had our sand pile under the old maple where we pushed and shoved our Tonka and Buddy L trucks, and I set up vast armies of toy soldiers for us to do battle with. Paul and Carl would eventually get tired of my supervision and wander off to do whatever it was that five year olds wanted to do.
I could go down to the ballfields and run with Whee-Zee, or hop on my bike to soar down Chestnut Hill. Rainy days were comic book days and Mr. Potato Head with real potatoes. Play Dough modeling clay and Colorforms and toy soldiers in the basement.
Was the summer more hot and humid back then? It seemed so. Thunderstorms were common. Huge thunderclouds and teeming rains and the asphalt sizzled and when it was over the streets were live with steam. Mrs. McGregor and Mrs. Aran would come to our house to sit in the kitchen with Mom until the storms were over and the power came back on. Whee-Zee would hide under the kitchen table and shiver; the only time I'd see her afraid of anything.
The hottest days we'd trek down to the lake for swimming and sand castles and I'd keep a respectful distance from Joyce Hoefers and any other girl I took a liking to.
Kool-Aid and coloring books under the maple tree. Go Fish and Old Maid at the picnic table, a big Fourth of July barbecue and birthday party for Carl.
Warm nights at the Starlite or the Parkway drive-in theatres, hamburgers and French fries at the Steer Inn or the Golden Point.
I could stay up late and watch shows like The Untouchables and Candid Camera, stuff I could only listen to from my bed on school nights.
My last years to be a little kid, to enjoy total, unadulterated freedom. Soon there would be chores; I'd actually have to work, but no not yet, the summer would still be mine. The world would become an angry place, and men would sail to the stars; a new president called out to the world for change.
But for now it was my time.
It was every kid's time.
Time to walk in the sun.