When you’re in grade school, summers are the bomb. School’s out, your parents pay for vacations and summer camps and ice cream and all kinds of great stuff. No more reading, studying, learning. I remember at the end of one summer I forgot what the word “sentence” meant. It was great.
When you’re in University, however, summer ain’t that hot. It’s the time to be a grown up, to work, to volunteer, to fix your car. It’s a distasteful dose of the real world between semesters. Disappointment after disappointment. People seem to change. You feel forgotten but you know you’re forgetting everyone, too. There’s too much time to dwell on your own hypocrisy. Too much time to realize that your fellow students are real people who have to deal with their own lives, which you never had to think too much about before, and maybe didn’t want to.
I miss summers being about running in sprinklers and playing GameBoy in the back of my parents’ minivan while we traveled somewhere I didn’t need to think about until I was there. Listening to the same 1996 Grammy Winners tape during each trip, again and again until I knew hearing Alanis Morissette would one day be a comfortable nostalgia.
And I miss University. Reading, studying, learning. Summers are all backwards, now. I miss the summers I loved. I miss the time in school that I loved. Sometimes it feels like all I do is miss.