Sunny Days

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Four generations of feet right here.

I grew up in the public school system, which strikes me now as a rather twisted experiment with the human psyche.  I had a teacher that often referred to our ignorance of and unfitness for “the real world”.  We thought she was crazy, but she was right.

Since my last day in school, not a single bell has ushered me from one room to the next.  I haven’t raised my hand to ask a question, or been with 60 people my own age.  And I haven’t- not once- even seen a chicken ring, much less eaten one.

Kids are resilient and even after a decade in this pseudo-reality, we can move on and engage in normal human activity, but every now and then something jogs my memory and I am there again.

One such moment comes every year in May.  Before I even open my eyes in the morning, I can feel it.  I am free.  Set loose.  It is the morning of the year of jubilee. Summertime!

Growing up, Summer was the time of real living.  It was my favorite season.  In the same way I’d hurl my backpack on a Friday afternoon, that bright May morning for over a decade I hurled my cares.  Just chucked them in exchange for

My sister (mine, my very own)
Catching fireflies
Running through the sheets on the clothesline
Crushing berries to paint myself
Creek sliding, lake swimming, night fishing
Boiled peanuts, Sweetened condensed milk, tomatoes
No tests, no pressures, no need to gag on my toothbrush at the unrighteousness hour of 6 AM

Quickly I remember that I have been grown and free for years, with 365 days a year available to smear crushed berries on myself if I wished, but with my first sip of coffee I smile to think of all the kids waking up to that good feeling.

I hope someone buys them a big bag of boiled peanuts and fireflies visit them soon.

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