Memory Well: Summertime

When I was a kid, I used to love the July holidays (July 4^th and July 24^th – in Utah, the second one was a much bigger deal.  Kind of like the 4^th, but with the addition of smugly knowing that it was just for us.)  I was almost always in Washington for the holidays, and there’s nothing like a small town in a patriotic fervor when you’re a little kid.  

First, there was the parade.  Fortunately, the main drag was not that long, because it was always in the 90s (or 100s), and Grandma would dress me up in semi-authentic pioneer woman drag – long calico dress (with long sleeves), bonnet, etc. and Grandpa had converted a Radio Flyer into a Conestoga wagon for me to drag along behind.  Justin had it easy – she made him buckskins, but I was hotter than heck (looked good, though.)  And there was always enough candy to put us all in a pixie-sticks high for a week.

Then there was the carnival – sack races, greased pig chasing, hopping around (and falling down) in the three-legged race, pie contests, a cake walk…  the only ride would be a really sad looking couple of ponies tethered to a pole, but there were all kinds of booths sponsored by the Rotary, or the Lions, or whomever.  Once I got old enough, I graduated to helping run the “fishing” booth for the Lions (Grandpa’s club of choice) – the kid would cast his line over the curtain, someone would peek and figure out how old and what gender they were, and we’d slip an appropriate toy on the line for them and tug. 

Of course, there were also the important political races – cans strategically annotated with the names and photos of local girls who were in the running for Miss Washington, with the winner determined by the cash accumulated (pennies only, please…) 

Later, after the sun went down, there would usually be a Disney movie shown on a sheet hanging outside the Wardhouse, and we’d sit and watch, our stomachs distended from munching on ProntoPups and pie and punch. 

I still celebrated some when I grew up – we’d get together with friends, eat barbeque and set off fireworks in our driveway, but in the past few years, I’ve even given up the fireworks – the pretty sparkles weren’t worth the noise and smell you had to put up with to get them, especially since my godchild isn’t around to appreciate them with anymore (I miss you, Brigid!)