It seemed that the hottest days of childhood were always in August. They were the late days of summer when it felt like time stood still.

While the sounds of cicadas muted the noise of the city, we'd sit on the porch and watch sprinklers move in gentle arcs across the spent summer grass.

On those long afternoons, all we could think about were blue ice pops in the freezer and the breeze coming from the box fans in the windows of our house. It was an old Victorian place, shaded by giant oaks that reached high over the roof. Our front yard was similarly shaded by elms, whose branches intertwined and arched over the street.

We'd spend our days in swim suits and cut offs and canvas Converses. We'd do anything to avoid the chores scribbled on the kitchen blackboard - or shouted up the back stairs. If we had actual paying jobs, they were probably sweeping sidewalks or pulling weeds for a neighbor.

But real work? No. August was about our right to freedom. And to unapologetic, innocent bliss.

Because we knew it would soon end. The leaves were already withering. And that meant change.

And, good God - how we hated change. It was so unfair. The water was finally getting warmer at the pool. We'd endured countless sunburns just to get tanned and freckled. We wanted it to last. We wanted to always smell Coppertone and strawberry lip gloss. We wanted to eat Toasted Almond ice cream bars every afternoon.

But when those summer days slowly slipped away, we somehow barely noticed. But slip they did. And slip and slip and slip.

And that brings me to this morning. All those once-skinny kids sat together in a sun-speckled backyard and talked about change. About moving from one season of life and into the next. It was a dialogue filled with both sadness and optimism. It was for our mother.

As I left, I wondered if we properly remembered how it felt when we had to put the swim suits and cutoffs in the attic and get out the blue pants and plaid skirts for school. If we remembered how it felt to lose that sense of freedom. To be told to rake leaves. To shovel snow.

I hope we're all able to remember those feelings. And that we keep in mind that even though school lunches will never beat a toasted almond ice cream bar on a hot August afternoon, they do bring basketball games and new friends and maybe even a future boyfriend or girlfriend.

Not that we would have been ready for that. But thank God for change.

Because eventually we were.

And I hope we can convey that message. One of hope within change - when the time comes.

#august

At Summer's End