Waves

I relished this feeling in elementary school: just days away from freedom, chaos ensued as we dodged routine and played games, watched movies, or gleaned extra recess time because the teachers and staff knew there was no way we could concentrate on anything of substance that last week before summer. Times may have changed drastically since the 80s, but the anticipation factor has not. Just this morning, my almost-not-a-third-grader told me he was 'very excited but also sad' that there are only three days of school left. I get it, buddy.

Then, a wave of nostalgia hit.

Third grade was one of the high points of my entire childhood. Halley's Comet made an appearance, I was obsessed with Michael J. Fox, I bought THE COOLEST keyboard at Kmart that played little electronic songs when I touched just one key. My best friend Christy and I would drive the lawnmower around my parents' two acres like it was a NASCAR race and I spent every moment possible on the beach in St. Joseph, Michigan, where my father was a charter boat captain.

He'd be up before sunrise, make the 30-minute drive to his dock slip, meet the clients and show them the ropes long before I was even conscious for the day. My mother would make my breakfast and pack our beach bag so I could run with my gangly spider legs through the sand, jump over and duck under the waves, make drippy sandcastles, and dig pits that filled with lake water while we waited for him to come back.

Standing on the pier sometime between 1-2pm, I'd wave at every boat coming in from their early morning fishing trips, giddy to see my dad's smile and hoping to watch him clean the fish when he got back while my mom scrubbed the floor of the Marathon to a bright, bleached white that smelled nothing like floppy, sticky salmon anymore. Dad would package the filets to send home with the clients and, every once in awhile, they wouldn't want it and we'd keep it for ourselves - a fresh, pan-fried meal later that evening with one of Mom's scrumptious side dishes.

Lightning bugs, fireworks, thunderstorms.

Sunshine, breezy lake air, my hair tied back as Dad let me 'drive' the boat.

Floating on the water, dancing to 80s music when it was brand new, climbing trees.

Fresh cut grass, planting a garden with Mom, laying on the upstairs deck watching stars.

Not a cell phone in sight.

Not a care in the world.

As I looked back at my 8-year-old sitting at the breakfast table, I wondered what he might be feeling forty years from now as he reminisces about third grade. If it was half as good as what I remember, as what I feel right now just thinking about it, then I will be happy because he will have had a wonderful childhood.

-Stephanie