A Summer Sunday In My Childhood
by Ross Cavins
A typical Summer Sunday in my childhood …
Seventy degrees and sunny, a puffy white cloud here and there.
Afternoon softball games with relatives in the oversized front yard.
Children and grown-ups play without perspiring,
The aroma of honeysuckles strong and sweet in the warm air.
Fun is everywhere;
The newly cut thick green carpet of centipede grass spongy beneath our feet,
The freshly oiled leather gloves soft in our hands,
The crack of the bat and a friendly scream to run,
A bright laughter dancing in everyone’s eyes,
Sweet tea with ice cubes and tart lemon wedges sweating in old jelly jar glasses.
Afterwards, the charcoal is doused with lighter fluid from a squeezy metal can,
Salad is tossed with store-bought iceberg lettuce, garden-grown juicy tomatoes,
Julienne carrot strips, hot-tasting radishes, slivers of green and red bell peppers,
Slices of vine-ripened cucumbers.
Hamburger patties are lumpy, hand-made with Worcestershire sauce and ketchup and
Onion soup mix and minced garlic.
Placed on the grill when it’s hot enough to sizzle,
Grease-fed orange flames engulfing them with hisses of smoky flavor.
The ice cream maker is plugged in and filled with milk and sugar and
Vanilla extract and mashed bananas, surrounded by rock salt and ice and
Running like a sputtering outboard motor.
Buns are toasted with pats of real butter and salad is served with Hidden Valley Ranch.
Lay’s rippled potato chips, you know you can’t have just one.
Supper is eaten and enjoyed, the grown-ups relax and chat while the
Children become restless again.
There’s unfathomable energy at that age, invincibility and eternity.
Infinity of the moment.
The sun drops below the treeline and
Board games are pulled from the hall closet.
George Jones and Conway Twitty and Tammy Wynette twang in the background.
Laughter and timeless amusement replace the week’s gossip.
Jokes and witty quips and priceless memories.
The games never become tiring and there is never enough time.
We play until late when everyone leaves
But my family and
I sleep well that night.
In my childhood, so long ago …
A fuzzy reality exists where the world is always good
And the times are forever remembered
With warmness and love.
Ross Cavins lives in the North Carolina Piedmont. His work has appeared in Swill Magazine, Hiss Quarterly, USA Deep South, Hack Writers and Dead Mule. Cavins is the author of the humorous book about rednecks and riches, “Follow The Money,” and his primary goal is to one day visit a bookstore and hear, “Hey, is this you?” instead of, “Hey, you gonna pay for that?” Click hereto read his blog.