August is My Chapter One

Is it just me?

Am I the only person who celebrates New Year’s Day half-heartedly? It’s dark and freezing, and there’s little to look forward to until the languid days of summer. I think the first week of August is the most exciting time of the year. It’s a new chapter with exciting changes and colors; not to mention the best holidays are on the way. 

Perhaps it’s because of my childhood school years. 

In my day, August meant new Nikes with red swooshes, rainbow-streaked Trapper Keeper notebooks, and striped or neon sweaters. They were the precursors to new teachers and reuniting with best friends we didn’t see every day during the summer. Tree leaves yellowed and crinkled like tablet paper, and the morning air alchemized from notes of floral perfume and suntan oil to wood smoke, wet pavement, and cafeteria pizza. 

We dreamed...

August was the time we began dreaming of bright, orange jack-o-lanterns and all of the candy we could collect in our homemade costumes. Friday night lights meant hard stadium seats, cold hamburgers, and football rivalries. We inhaled all of it, ever aware the looming change of season meant Christmas lights were on the horizon. Our mistletoe machinations would be followed by dull snow days broken up with the heady excitement of secret Valentine messages. We had the assurances of soft, dependable daffodils to cheer us through the final days of tornado drills and testing. Then came the climax of Memorial Day, after which we’d hibernate through heatwaves with MTV until life began again. Like the air and the leaves, we changed with the school year, parts of us dying and new pieces taking their places--one August to the next.

Once upon a time, 

we closed a book at the end of every summer, and began all over again. We took another footstep toward growing up and leaving the innocence of our reliable routines behind. That time is here again. Yes, I know summer is not over. It’s hot. The grass is still bright, and the humidity feels like a wet wool blanket. But it is August at last, and the cherished memories that come along with it fill me with gratitude and anticipation for more change and autumn excitement—even at fifty-five. Bring on the sweaters.