We walked to the local outdoor community pool with no parental supervision,
and rode our bikes around blocks and trails, and to the variety store where Fun Dip was 10 cents and chocolate bars were 25.

The excitement of the day was buying Freezies and rocket pops that would stain our clothes.

The sounds of the ice cream trucks circling the streets enticed joyful screams.

We played “restaurant” with mud, and climbed trees, swinging from their branches.

We ran through sprinklers, and waded in small plastic pools,
and played tag, hopscotch and Double Dutch.

Outside we spent all summer’s day until we were called in for dinner,
and then rushed back out once again until dusk for hide-and-seek.

Extended families gathered on Sundays since everything else was closed,
to Wonderland, the local beach, or Centre Island for potluck picnics and charcoal barbecue,
and on the way back, we’d gaze out the car window and daydream or nap, sun-kissed.

These are the summers of our childhood past,
where families and friends gathered and created memorable fun and endless laughter,
where we entertained ourselves rather than looking to be entertained,
where boredom meant making our own adventures.