Boom! It was over

I miss the days when life used to move in slow motion. In a desperate effort to make the most out of what was unbelievably the last day of summer, my son and I got an earlier start than usual in getting out of the house. Walking alongside, watching him pedal a bike he is quickly outgrowing, we spent our leisurely journey happily rehashing some of the finer moments of a summer season that has gone by entirely too quickly. His rapid-fire reminiscing fades a bit, while I temporarily, albeit involuntarily, tune him out and forlornly take notice of the faded remnants of a Yard Sale announcement stubbornly stuck to a lamppost, fighting to stem the tide of the inevitable in much the same way that we are doing. I can't say that I still relish the arrival of summer in much the same way I had when I was younger, but I do hate to see it reach its conclusion in much the same way I'm sure kid's do when they're facing that long dreaded first day of school. At what point did life begin passing in a blur, lending some credence to the old saying, flash before my eyes? I still recall a long ago conversation with a co-worker during my tenure at Hofstra University. I had idly commented on how quickly the summer seemed to have passed. She forewarned me that as you get older, time moves at a far more rapid pace. I offhandedly dismissed that, thinking to myself, no way! These are the best years of my life right now. This will last forever. It doesn't.
I have this habit now of attaching a theme to each summer, in an effort to keep them all straight in my mind. Last year, for instance was The Summer of Potter. J.K Rowling's final chapter of the beloved Harry Potter series was certainly the media event of the season, if not the year. You could not walk anywhere through everyday life without seeing someone reading The Deathly Hallows. 2008 will always be remembered as the Summer of Dorsey, though I didn't see anyone else with his or her head buried in a Dorsey book. Tim Dorsey is an author who makes his living in the genre of Florida fiction. With the exception of Laurence Shames, another author of the same ilk, I usually don't follow this type of work. The outlandishly over the top characters and situations can get tiresome. Shames, at least keeps this in check somewhat. The appealing thing about the Dorsey novels is his penchant for Florida history, which he seamlessly weaves into every storyline. I've always dreamed of escaping to Key West, and living the Parrothead lifestyle. I generally prefer to take my literary Florida excursions during the winter months, but as I was desperately in search of a theme to catalog the Summer of 'o8 for future reference, July seemed as good a time as any. Here we are in September, five Dorsey's later and in great need of a break. With the unofficial end of summer, comes my unofficial end of Dorsey, at least until the New Year.
Cabin Fever is an ailment that usually strikes my wife and me shortly into the onset of winter. Entertaining a five year old who will quickly be bored with his recent cache of new Christmas gifts is no easy task. With the prospect of little snowfall in our area, he starts longing for the warmer weather shortly after the holidays. The weather has yet to show a hint of changing yet and he’s already asking me when we will make our next pilgrimage to Pennsylvania. This year, by unanimous decision, we returned to the land of the Amish. He fondly remembers last year's ride in a horse and buggy and the exciting journey aboard a genuine steam train, yet he talks mostly about swimming in the motel pool and playing in the playground in his pajamas.
I guess it really is the little things.
This time around I had wanted to try something different, with the hope of making a memory for him that would last forever. Rather than a motel, we had chosen to stay in a log cabin on the property of the Mill Bridge Camping Resort. A built in pool, playground, canoeing, and the opportunity to sit outside by a campfire seemed a great way to take his Pennsylvania mindset to another level. It was sleeping in a loft that he will remember most about his return trip to the Pennsylvania farmland. My wife is not really into the whole great outdoors thing. Bugs and the lingering smell of charred wood on both clothing and person kept her from joining the two of us around the fire, where we stayed one night until well past his bedtime. I never would have thought it possible to actively converse with such a young mind for such an extended period. Two days later as we were pulling out, I watched his pensive face in the rear view mirror, feeling a bit of his sadness at the prospect of returning home, while wondering at the same time whether my dad and I may have shared a similar bonding experience when I was that age. Should my little guy ever take the time stop by here and read about his dad one day, I hope that he will remember that night with as much warmth and fondness as I do. I always worry about his teen years, and how that will inevitably affect the bond we share now. He started Kindergarten this morning. His infant and toddler years have gone by in the same blur that this summer has. Long before he had come into our lives, my wife and I just beginning a relationship that would span a lifetime, country music radio was alive and well in New York. Summer seemed to last just a little longer back then, though I no longer harbored the illusion that this will last forever. It was during that time when country artist Robert Ellis Orrall had scored a minor hit, that as cliche' as it may sound, sums up this long winded (yes, another one) entry perfectly.

Like stepping off the corner on a busy street,
Like a pretty girl can knock you off your feet,
Like a change in the weather, or the drop of a hat,
BOOM! It was over, just like that.