The first day of spring, and even if it's cloudy and cooler than last week, the whole idea of it is so cheery that I feel like celebrating. When I was a kid, our tiny school (K through 12th grade in one building - the other building was the gym cum cafeteria) had a huge May Day festival that was the highlight of every school year. There was a May Queen (we didn't have football, so no homecoming queen - basketball was the big sport) and skits and marching, singing, and lunch out on the field. One year our class enacted Alice in Wonderland, and I was the Mad Hatter (this was considered typecasting, I'm afraid). I had a top hat, tie, shirt and vest, and had rigged a tube through my clothes so the March Hare (my good friend who had extremely rabbity teeth) could pour tea from a teapot down my collar and it would come out my cuff directly into a teacup. I consider this the highlight of my creative life, and regret only there were no videos to immortalize my triumph. We were too young then to be in the running for May Queen but later my best friend was chosen, and the production around the dress rivaled a Plaza Hotel wedding. Yes, we danced around a May Pole, holding on to pastel colored streamers, and it was giddy and delightful fun.
We knew summer was not far away, and in those ancient days we maybe, if we were lucky, we went to camp for a week or two, but the summer was basically free. We rushed outside every day and came home at dark. We were not scheduled, there were no lessons or summer school classes, it was just bike to the river and jump in. I think something has been lost, with all this booked-solid summer routine. Even the educational trips to Costa Rica and Italy are strange. How can you anticipate anything in life if you've seen it all by seventeen? We got to know ourselves in the summertime. We played Monopoly, Gin Rummy and Hearts for days, and it meant learning to prolong the game instead of cashing out and winning. We had fights and made up. We made our dogs and cats wear hats and bows on their tails. We tried on our mothers' clothes and jewelry while they were away. We organized dances, and read books to each other. TV was turned off until after dinner, and even then, a lot of us read propped up in a corner. I took long, moony walks in the woods, and spent time contemplating the meaning of the universe and Fabian in my own way, not because I had a reading list and a test. That spaciousness just seems to be gone. Yes, maybe life is more dangerous, and the neighborly watch system is defunct, and to "get ahead" you have to have 2 years worth of college credits to get into a college. Parents could say no. They could cut off the TV, computer and games; but those are the new sitters. I guess the culture has changed, and there is no way to go back. I just hope people see what's been lost. Because dancing around a pole has no redeeming value, but here I am, half a century later, recalling it and smiling ear to ear.
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