Where are the children?
I was out for a run the other day enjoying the beautiful summer day. The smell of honeysuckle hung in the air, the sky was the most beautiful blue, and a gentle breeze made it a top ten day. As my feet got into a rhythm, my mind drifted back to another time that the smell of honeysuckle hung in the air.
It was the summer of 1975 (I can remember that because it was the year the tornado blew through town), and I was about six years old. I would jump out of bed, race down the stairs, and out the back door. I would rush to a swing and try to start swinging before the back door would slam shut. I would pump my legs as fast as I could to get higher and higher. Summer vacation ushered in a whole new season.
As I grew older, summer days meant that the yard would be full of neighbor kids and the fun would begin when the sun came up. We would start the summer game of kick the can that never had an end until school started back up. Everyone would come over and play every day from morning until the street lights came on. We never tired of running, hiding, and kicking the can. It was then I would soak in the smell of the sweet honeysuckle and watch the bees sample the nectar as I stayed silent, still, and hidden by the fence waiting for my chance to kick the can.
Now, inhaling the honeysuckle took me back all those years. As I ran by empty yard after empty yard, I wonder…where are the children now? What are their memories? To me summer was playing wiffle ball, tag, kick the can, and eating ice cream cones on the front porch. Has this generation of kids been gyped out of summer?
It was the summer of 1975 (I can remember that because it was the year the tornado blew through town), and I was about six years old. I would jump out of bed, race down the stairs, and out the back door. I would rush to a swing and try to start swinging before the back door would slam shut. I would pump my legs as fast as I could to get higher and higher. Summer vacation ushered in a whole new season.
As I grew older, summer days meant that the yard would be full of neighbor kids and the fun would begin when the sun came up. We would start the summer game of kick the can that never had an end until school started back up. Everyone would come over and play every day from morning until the street lights came on. We never tired of running, hiding, and kicking the can. It was then I would soak in the smell of the sweet honeysuckle and watch the bees sample the nectar as I stayed silent, still, and hidden by the fence waiting for my chance to kick the can.
Now, inhaling the honeysuckle took me back all those years. As I ran by empty yard after empty yard, I wonder…where are the children now? What are their memories? To me summer was playing wiffle ball, tag, kick the can, and eating ice cream cones on the front porch. Has this generation of kids been gyped out of summer?
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