They come back, those summer days, like when I hear the 1969 song, “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” recorded by Sly and the Family Stone, released shortly after the band’s epic performance at Woodstock.
Woodstock was a place somewhere else for or a kid growing up in Southwest
Oklahoma. But summer was a time that brought with it memories of a real place in an
age of innocence, a place surely not far from heaven.
And Sly and the Family’s hit single is one those songs that bring that place back to
life:
“Boop-boop-ba-boop-boop” when I want to/
Out of school, yeah/
County fair in the country sun/
And everything, it’s true, ooh yeah/
Them summer days, those days/
That’s when I had most of my fun.”
School was out, and I was free to roam—from the ball field to the tennis courts to the swimming pool to the Plaza Theatre. In a few years, summer employment would take most of those luxuries off the table, but for a while, I was only responsible for mowing the lawn and certain chores around the house. Apart from that, I was free to play with friends.
Our mode of travel was riding our bikes or walking. With no cell phones or video games to occupy our time, we talked, often while sitting outside the neighborhood convenient store, sipping on cherry-flavored Icees, a soothing relief from the summer’s heat.
I was young and naïve, but I could smell what was on the horizon: a return to school and work.
I took in those summer moments.
Life was simple: sleep in, play outside, hang out with my buddies, aggravate my older brothers, read books, play ball, be home in time for family meals, and with no homework, watch TV, staying up late for The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
The summertime of life is often symbolized as young adulthood, but for me, it was the pristine gift of childhood.
“Hot Fun in the Summertime,” along with other tunes of that era, evoke pleasant feelings, primarily because they are reminiscent of a time before The Time, a time not everyone gets to have, I know, but nonetheless, a time before anything really bad has happened to you: no painful rejections, no jabs that buckle you to your knees, no loss of innocence.
That would come later, as it did for you. And there would be songs for those experiences, too.
But back then, summer was good because life was good.
It still is; it just carries with it some scars, some war wounds.
And when those irritate the soul, I sometimes pull up one of those summertime moments, like the smell of fresh-cut wheat on an early, summer morning in Southwest Oklahoma.
Or an old tune of those growing up days, maybe Sly and The Family, or The Beach Boys, or The Lovin’ Spoonful.
Thoreau was right: “One must maintain a little bit of summer, even in the midst of winter.”
It’s true.
Even if you have to play some of your old 45s to bring it back.