Around 6:30 this morning I stepped outside into that humongous steam bath to remove the more than 30 American flags we had on our front lawn.
And I thought about my father. Not strange. I think about him every day.
Sometime around 10:00 last night (July 4) my mother was gently scolding my father.
When I was a kid we would gather on a street corner where we could easily see the fireworks from the closest Milwaukee County park.After the fireworks were done it was oh so predictable what would happen next.
In front of all the families and their kids, Dad would say, “Well, summer’s over.” Mom, who never got all that rough, immediately chastised him, admonishing him not to take the joy out of everyone.Mom knew, and so did Dad, that summer had officially just begun a few weeks ago. What Dad meant was a very quick, decisive end to summer was about to begin. The summer would disappear rapidly. Heck, some schools go back into session in mid-August.
Summer is fleeting. It is so sadly short compared to what seems to be a never-ending depressing winter.Considering the calendar Dad knew he was wrong. Summer wasn’t really over.However days are now getting shorter. And in the end, Dad was right.
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