Best Summer Countdown: Number 5

#5 Summer 2001: SKY Ranch

I'm not sure that this summer classifies as one of the "best," but it certainly was significant. I think the summer between middle school and high school always deserves some recognition. It's less about the actual events of this summer (although this is when I discovered that I had acne on my forehead) and more about the overall attitude of entitlement and utter social anxiety.

Christian summer camp as a post-middle, pre-high schooler is ripe with Christian tense - it involves a lot of bandeau swimsuits (mostly because they make your boobs look bigger) and wearing jewelry to the pool - Why? And in case you forgot - swim suit cover ups are NOT cool. Dark eyeliner is a necessity ESPECIALLY when you'll be sweating all day and, please, pull down two little strands of hair in front of your forehead. Why? To this day I have no idea.

Anyway, this is the summer I experienced my first "real" break-up. I mean, we dated for 3 whole weeks, never mind the fact that I was at camp for one of those. KS and I wrote both of our boyfriends extremely lengthy letters while sitting in the soda shoppe at the ranch (probably skipping some outdoor activity). We both included pictures in our letters - you know, lest they forget what we looked like in the week we were gone. Upon my return home, I received an E-MAIL informing me of the disintegration of our relationship. Curses. My serious 8th grade relationship ended because he met some other trampy post-8th, pre-9th grader. I spent the next year ignoring his presence all together.

Best Summer Countdown: Number 6

#6 Summer 1992-2000

Summer as a little kid is great because you're totally left to your own defenses. I know it seems odd that I would lump nearly a decade of summers together, but let's face it, they're all basically the same. You can't drive so you're a prisoner in your own home, left to obey your parents every whim which mostly includes shipping you off to summer camp. I, of course, was terrified of summer camp. I don't like sports or the outdoors so that rules out quite a bit of "summer fun." I've been told that I was sent to one or two sports camps - I've obviously repressed those memories. The only vague memory I have of sports camp is lying on the pavement of a tennis court struggling to find air because I had the wind knocked out of me. Never again.

What I remember most from my younger years is the desperation to create a neighborhood gang that resembled the cast of Now and Then. As the chubby one in the neighborhood, I probably most resemble Rosie O'Donnell's character. You're welcome for that mental image.

A common pastime was talking on the phone with KS every morning while we watched Franklin, Kipper, and Little Bear (all of which we were too old to be watching). Most of the time, KS was instructing me (via teleconference) on how to draw the head of Fred Flinstone. She usually figure out that I wasn't actually drawing the head of Fred Flinstone and instead just feeding her minimal encouragers like I was listening - as punishment she'd ask me to bring my drawing over and show it to her as proof. Don't worry, she's in law school now - I pity any opposition that has to endure her punitive justice.

As I got older (and KT moved to our neighborhood - thus completing our Now and Then lifestyle), I remember a defined increase in competition. I only blame KT indirectly for the increase in competition. I blame KS directly. The arrival of KT meant that KS had found someone good enough (mentally tough enough) to compete with KS for ring diving competitions of speed and breath-holding competitions of endurance. Naturally, I was the first to toss my white flag and surrender. Tangentially related is my memory of KT's glow-in-the-dark retainer and terrifying ventriloquism doll.

Summertime, Pt. 1

After nearly 3 months ... I have returned. I've been tossing around the idea of blogging for about 2 weeks, but when I woke up at 7 a.m. for the third (and notably worst) day in a row - I knew today was the day.

The great thing about summertime is that its very existence is nostalgic. That's why there are "summer blockbusters" at the movie theater and "great summer hits" on the radio. The terrible thing about summertime is that one morning you will wake up and realize it will never really be summertime again. Instead it will be "adulthood" every day for the rest of your life. I fear this destination is looming.

Every summer I reflect on what summer "used to be like." Summers take on different meanings as you grow up; as a little kid it meant summer camp or swim lessons; as a 'tween it meant pool parties and sleepovers with your best friends and SKY Ranch; as an adolescent it meant swearing to never eat a hot dog in front of a boy and absolutely DEMANDING that you wear your hot, new bikini (not the tankini that was SO 7th grade); as a teenager it meant a part-time job, lake houses, making out in the backseat of your car (sorry, parents), and laying out by the pool to work on your tan. As a college student, it means internships, frequent stops at QuickTrip, putting a lot of mileage on your car, and most likely at least one trip to Las Vegas.

I can tell you now that summertime as a graduate student means recovery and shelter-seeking.

Tune in tomorrow when I reflect on MY best summers.