The arrival of summer brings the usual festive traditions, those friendly reminders that take me back to my childhood; the smell of grilling hot dogs on the barbeque, the feel of wet sand between my toes, the taste of cold lemonade bought for 25¢ from a road-side stand. It is all so familiar, like a long-lost best friend that I grew to count on.
At six years old, freedom was found on the seat of Pink Missy. Complete with sparkly tasseled handlebars and multi-colored Spokey Dokes, my pink and white bicycle allowed me to explore the world (or at least the small town I grew up in) with ease and confidence. Sitting ever-so keenly in my basket was my prized possession, my sidekick if you will – Miss. Piggy, a yellow and pink stuffed friend who was given to me my very first Christmas from Uncle Frank. She ventured everywhere I did… and without question or hesitation. She was one courageous pig, I tell you!
It never occurred to either of us to be wary of scraped knees or loss of stuffing, though we both have scars to prove an otherwise unsafe expedition; she with her gnarly re-stitching performed by my older sister, me with my rather extensive knowledge of what it feels like to have a bare-skin-meets-loose-gravel kind of situation.
No matter how many times we tumbled and didn’t make it home as intact as we were when we departed, our routine never changed. Each morning, we left when the grass was still wet with dew, each night we returned when the sun was kissing the horizon. It was how I learned to tell time, the indicators that referenced where I was supposed to be at any given moment.
Life was easy then. I sustained myself on a diet of peanut butter sandwiches and Tahiti Treat (an odd combination though surprisingly complimentary) and paid little attention to the fact that I wore ill-matching clothes and my Shirley Temple-like perm left little to be desired. I had cheeks that resembled a chipmunk and a little round belly that, in my frilly red bikini, stuck out in the most adorable way. Beyond that, my legs were speckled with mosquito bites and bruises and my pronunciation of simple words like baseball and shorts always caused a giggle or two. When it came down to it, all of that equated to very little. The only thing that concerned me was what was around the next corner, what the next adventure Miss. Piggy and I had ahead of us on good ol’ Pink Missy.
While I may never don another red bikini with such reckless abandon, I would love to live life the way I did then… taking pleasure in the simple things.