I imagine that most Midwestern baby boomers, around my age, have similar summer memories as I do.
It doesn't take much to take me back. The thick, sweet smell of fresh cut grass. Picnics by the lake, with the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers sizzling over charcoal briquettes.
Homemade, hand-cranked, peach ice cream and ice cold fresh squeezed lemonade. Afternoon softball games. Fresh picked, sun ripened blackberries, laden with thick, sweetened fresh cream. Cold fried chicken and warm potato salad. Drive in movies. Twilight games of Kick the Can or chasing fireflies under starry skies on a warm summer evening. Corn on the cob and corn dogs at the State Fair. The list goes on forever and appears to be mostly food related. Hmmmm. There is no denying that I love to eat.
Summer travel was also the same for most of us in the 60s. Vacations seemed to be centered around visiting relatives in distant states or traveling to state parks and monuments. With two parents and 4 children packed into one large Pontiac sedan, it was all we could do to keep from killing each other along the way. If we weren't playing those ridiculous travel games, we were fighting, or complaining about being hot or bored.
Our parents let us travel in ways that would get them arrested today. Seat belts were not fashionable and were often tucked away, under the seats. We would take turns hanging our feet out the window to cool off. When were were too tired to complain or fight any longer, we would spread out to sleep off the travel. One kid had to sleep sitting up, jammed on the bench seat between both parents in the front seat, while another layed "over the hump" on the back seat floor, one in the back seat window ledge, and another across the back seat.
My parents preferred staying at Best Western motels, and all any of us kids ever wanted was air conditioning, a color TV, orange soda pop, to eat out in restaurants, and of course, a swimming pool. In a addition to the traditional question of "Are we there yet?", was a constant vigilance, on our part, on helping our father secure adequate lodging each afternoon of our trip. Anytime after 2:30 in the afternoon, we would point out every motel that met that criteria as an acceptable place to hole up. This constant need of my father's to "make time" or "put in distance" was significantly cutting into our "swimming time"!
4th of July always seemed to be a special time as we were growing up. As young children, I can remember running through the streets, at twilight, with sparklers in hand. Dad would help us light up the "black charcoal snakes", pop bottle rockets and roman candles. Later in the evening, we would all wrap up in cozy blankets and watch a spectacular Disney like fireworks display in the sky.
We didn't really have access to fire crackers and cherry bombs until 7th or 8th grade. By then, every kid had heard the urban legends of the multitudes of "bad boys" who had lost fingers, hands, and, for God's sakes, even whole limbs because they played with these "miniature" pieces of dynamite without proper care and supervision.
Most of my Independence Day celebrations have now blended into one extended memory. All except for one special 4th of July that no one in my family will ever forget.
One summer, when I was 13 and living in Colorado, I spent my entire life savings purchasing every imaginable form of fireworks available for sale in both Colorado and Nebraska. Sky Rockets, cherry bombs, M-80s, firecrackers, roman candles, etc. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that I was planning my own special fireworks display that evening and all my family, friends, and neighbors came over to watch what was supposed to be a long drawn out fireworks event throughout the evening.
They all lined up in lawn chairs in our front lawn waiting for the event. I had been storing all my fireworks in my dresser drawer and it was packed so full and tight, that I simply brought my entire dresser drawn down the the front street curb.
Though I can be a little dramatic at times, I spared the speech and simply got everyone's attention by lighting the very first bottle rocket to inaugurate the event. To my surprise, sparks from the bottle rocket flew into the dresser drawer packed with all the other fireworks, and lit everything on fire.
In a flash of fire, and burst of black smoke and thunder, everything went off. Roman candles flaring, firecrackers crackling and snapping, M-80s exploding and bottle rockets shooting off in every direction imaginable. Astounded, but frightened, everyone jumped out of their seats and ducked behind their chairs, bushes, fences, trees – whatever cover they could find!
Although my dresser drawer caught on fired and was burned, nobody was injured. The entire event lasted only a few minutes but was spectacular!
