Sometimes Forever Isn’t Long Enough
By Guy Lounsbury

The sounds of summer fade into September’s gathering twilight. Promises whispered so eagerly in spring’s first hints of the coming glorious sunshine are now mere memories, echoing ever more dimly away as the day shortens and the night creeps slowly, irrepressibly upon us. Fall’s golden colors will soon be displayed and then, all too shortly thereafter, winter’s cold darkness will follow.

Either fulfilled or left empty, the adventures and treasures of the seemingly endless summer are drifting away. The world hurdles along, ever on its journey and another summer has come and gone. I cannot think of anyone that doesn’t mourn summer’s demise, but no one more so than the young. Particularly those that haven’t felt the hook of the almighty dollar and still count freedom as their most valuable asset. Their expectations of summer are so high, their enthusiasms boundless and their dreams not yet whetted down by life’s grindstone.

The beginning of school, who has not felt the dread that thought inspires? My nine year old son Jacob informed us tonight, two days before school’s opening bell, that he was thinking of giving it a miss this year. Taking a sabbatical as it were to reflect on things of great and vital importance. Well he might not have used those exact words, but the sentiment was the same. Of course, after a laugh that would’ve done Simon Legree proud, we informed him that such would not be the case and his fanny would be sitting perpendicular in a desk before the week was out.

He isn’t quite ready for the summer to end. There are still fish to catch, clubhouses to build, games to play and all the other things that he does to fill up his carefree summer days. He just hasn’t managed to find the time he needs to accomplish all he feels he should. I sympathize. I haven’t mastered that little trick yet myself.

How has this happened? I can see that question in his eyes every time school’s start is mentioned. He looks both betrayed and bewildered. Wasn’t it only yesterday that a guaranteed reprise was granted? The last day of school brought such exuberance into his young heart, such a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Three months, to a nine-year-old that seems an endless amount of time. You might as well call it forever. But somehow, inexplicably, forever is now drawing to an end.

His excitement couldn’t be reigned in on that first day of vacation. He was a blur. He ran everywhere and did everything so fast, trying to fit the plans made over the course of nine months into the freedom of a single day, perhaps fearing it was all a cruel joke that might be snatched away by cold hearted adults. But no, the next day’s sunrise brought no wakeup call, no bus ride, and most importantly, no classroom. It was true then; school was a distant torture so faintly seen in the future that it might not come at all.

He’s had a good summer I guess. He seemed to anyway. I suppose it could’ve been better but then it could’ve been worse too. There were things that I was hoping we would do together that I just never found the time or energy for. I wanted to take him to a major league ballgame this summer, but the behavior of the people in baseball has sickened my appetite for the game. I wanted to take him for an airplane ride but that turned out to be more complex to arrange than I’d anticipated. We didn’t go on a vacation, military duty took precedence over that. I should’ve taken him fishing more. I should’ve gotten the canoe out more weekends. I should’ve taken more nice days off to be with him and done all the things I thought I would as I looked at his smile on that first day of summer. I too thought three months would last forever. In 41 years, I still haven’t learned that sometimes forever isn’t long enough.

There were other things this summer though, things that create lifetime memories for some and recall memories of long ago for others.

I’d found an old pup tent, tucked away and forgotten in our shed. Miraculously the mice had spared it and all the parts were there. I set it up about 30 feet from our backdoor. To Jacob and his buddy David, the next door ten-year-old neighbor, it was nothing short of fantastic.

Of course plans were made, big plans. Arrangements for the invasion of Normandy pale in comparison. Every possible contingency was foreseen and accounted for, needed supplies were drawn up and procured. Wood retrieved for a fire, sticks made ready for marshmallows, and not just any sticks mind you, for only the perfect sticks would do on this expedition. All was in place when the night descended. It had to be, this was life and death in the raw, not to be faced by the faint of heart.

As those lesser children were called into the safety of their homes, the two intrepid youths, with brave resolve, climbed into the flimsy shelter. Civilization left behind, it was all that stood between them and the fearsome beasts of nature that prowl in the Helderburg’s night, mercilessly devouring all in their paths and rumored to be particularly fond of the flesh of boys ages 9 to 10.

Only God’s grace and an extraordinary display of nerve kept the danger of the wilds at bay that night. The batteries in the electric lantern held out and they made it through to sunrise, much to my wife’s amazement. She was certain we’d find them both in my son’s room that morning. How little understanding a mother sometimes has for her son’s journey to manhood.

I noticed thereafter that the two adventurers started walking with a certain swagger they’d found somewhere in that night while braving the darkness and all the threats it holds. They told their tales of adventure to the awestruck, untried younger kids of the neighborhood, speaking with a newfound confidence the ordeal by fire had instilled within them and sharing a look that only those who have been there can know. They’d faced danger and fear and, with cool nerve, not flinched nor backed away.

I don’t know why, but I was unaccountably proud and maybe even a little envious that next morning of both boys. They’d had adventure, been put to the test, and not found lacking. They’d gone through a rite of passage and proven that the spirit of Lewis and Clark lives on.

It’s a shame that we adults lose the ability to find the thrills hidden in such simplicity, that a dark backyard no longer taunts the nerves and keens the senses as it once did. Still, though the joys of summer may change, they do not end - even if we relive them through our children and the discoveries they make on life’s path.

With the advent of school, my son’s summer draws to a close. Responsibilities will soon weigh heavily upon his small shoulders as he again is forced to endure the constraints of school and its accompanying work. Soon, he’ll sit at the table with a textbook between him and the freedom he so recently and unreservedly felt.

He will learn things, important things, which will help get him through life. But I’m not convinced the things taught in the classroom are of any greater value than the lessons summertime provides. To know that a staunch friend by your side can make all the difference, to know he has an inner strength that can be called upon when needed. He learned this and more over the past few months.

This has been a summer of growth for my son. In the spring we dream of summer’s promise, in the fall of summer’s memory. It’s in the summertime though, that all things seem to come of age. In the summer, all life expands, growing until the feeling of it fills all boundaries, causing the very air to reverberate with its passions. So too, my son’s life expanded this summer. He’s starting to see his way in the world and eager for more. But those lessons are reserved for future summers, future forevers. Because for now, this summer’s forever is ending and I suspect the dismay this causes on his face is mirrored on my own.