'09 Summer Days
Summer days usually follow the same pattern. My Mom takes my sisters and I to Ted Williams Park a few miles from our house. From there, we each have our own routines. My sisters usually play on the beach, making sandcastles for hours on end. My Mom will sit in the same beach chair, on the same spot on the beach, with a different book each week. She sits with a few of her friends, who also bring their kids to the park nearly every day. As for me, I make my way to the basketball court. My friends Dan and Josh come here every day with me, and we make a formidable trio—as far as young kids went. Here, we reenact the shots we saw our favorite players take in seasons prior, dreaming to someday be them. We make up our own games, keeping a summer’s long tally on who is ahead and who is in last. And if another group of kids are to visit the park one day, we are happy to have some new faces to play against. We usually play for a few hours until the growls of our stomachs can no longer be ignored. After that, we walk back to our moms with their bountiful coolers, filled to the brim with snacks and drinks for a long summer day. Every day, I have the same thing—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, made by my Dad, always cut diagonally. After a short conversation with our moms discussing the basketball court gossip, we head over to the picnic tables in the shade. Sun is the last thing we need at this moment. Our discussions usually revolve around the same topics. We all played summer league baseball, but for different teams. The next school year—third grade—was just around the corner. Dan and I both had Mr. Cardoza, but Josh had Mrs. Brandenburg. Life is simple and consistent. After lunch, we return to the basketball court, refreshed and full of youthful energy.
On this particular day, we play a game of HORSE, where one of us makes a shot and the others have to match it, or else they get a letter towards spelling out “horse.” I never want to be the first to lose, but the same goes for my friends. Everything is a competition with the three of us. Our competitive natures sometimes get the best of us, but we always patch things up soon after. The game is tight until the end, but Josh ends up winning. He’s the best of us all and is sure to bring it up whenever we get to teasing each other. By this point, the sun is beating down on us harder than ever, and Dan brings up the idea of swimming to cool down. Our tired and sweaty selves believe this to be a revolutionary idea, and we drop our shoes and shirts by our moms’ chairs and race to the water.
Ted Williams Park is located on Loon Pond. For us kids, though, we called it Never Touch. Rumor has it that once the water was not clear enough to see the bottom, you did not want to feel the bottom anyways. Tall tales have been passed down of daring children disappearing before their onlooking friends. We could neither confirm nor deny the truth of these stories, but the respect and healthy fear for Never Touch was ingrained within each of us.
We splash around in water up to our waists and begin to drift further and further out. When the water reaches our chests, we stop going out any further. From here, we take in the view. Behind us is the beach, and in the distance behind that is the playground, the dog park, and, of course, the hallowed basketball court. On the other sides of the pond is a large wooded area. On rainy days, we often ditch the wet basketball court to explore what the woods have to offer. In the middle of summer, the trees are full of life and stand tall and proud. Above us is the intense, beating sun. It is relentless, but we welcome the warmth. Massachusetts winters can be so brutal that we would take a hot day over a cold, snowy one. Not a single cloud to be spotted in the sky, it was the best summer had to offer. Below us, we felt the reassuring mix of silt and sand that meant we had not drifted too far out. Anchored in the middle of the pond was a little raft with a diving stand to jump off of. It seemed like it was a mile away, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple football fields out. My friends and I never swam out to the raft before; we had always been too caught up in the lore of Never Touch. Besides, only the older kids could make that swim.
We swim in the chest deep water for a while; it is truly great to get out of the sun and into the water at least once a day. After a few more minutes, though, the novelty starts to wear on us. Dan, the most daring and impatient of the three, suggests we make the voyage out to the raft to play with some of our older friends. Josh and I are hesitant at first, as it does seem too far out. We are all good swimmers, but swimming out to the raft is a feat. I am the youngest of the three, and also make for the worst swimmer. I’ve completed my fair share of swimming lessons and have the basics down, but I can’t swim well for long periods of time. Eventually, Josh is convinced that it is a good idea. Because of my inclination to keep up with my two best friends, as well as to prove my own abilities to myself, I hesitantly join in behind them.
The beginning of the trek starts off, well, swimmingly. I manage to keep pace with my two friends, and we are even cracking jokes to each other on the way out. Making it out to the raft will prove how capable we are. Our moms keep an eye on us, taking note of our maiden journey to the raft. At this point, the raft is noticeably closer. We can see the lifeguard on the chair and the kids playing on it. Our friends Logan and Chris, both two years older than the three of us, are practicing their front flips off the platform. We cannot wait until that is us perfecting our form.
However, with each stroke, I grow a little more tired. I do not see the same fatigue within my friends, so I decide to keep it to myself. I must prove that I am as good of a swimmer as they and the older kids are. I switch from the front crawl to the back stroke—we learned both of these in our gym class swim lessons from the year before—in order to catch my breath. As I look behind me, my friends pull ahead further and further from me. At this point, the journey seems futile. However, the time to quit was when I could feel the sand below my feet. I knew I must continue on. The remainder of the swim is a battle with my own mind. I felt as if I could not physically make it, but deep down I knew I could. I knew I would. Each stroke meant that the raft was a few feet closer, but I am locked in and not looking out towards it. I begin to hear splashing and laughing. I must be close to the raft. I was pretty out of breath at this point, but regained some hope. I start to count each stroke, and once I reach ten, I start from the beginning again.
Eventually, I extend my arm out a final time and reach the raft. I turn around and float towards the ladder to climb onto the raft. By this point, I am thoroughly out of breath. Once on the raft, I flop onto my back to catch my breath for a few minutes. Deep inside, I am immensely proud that I made it. I proved to myself, my friends, and my own mother that I could make it out here. Although it was a silly accomplishment, I felt satisfied that I had made it through a tough and trying experience.
My friends had jumped off the raft, and saw me lying on it when they made it out of the water. I have a grin on my face, content with myself for eventually making it out to the raft.
“Finally made it out here? Took you long enough.” Josh said with a smile, knowing he got a good one in on me. I couldn’t find anything witty to say back to him, but the three of us spent the rest of the afternoon jumping off the raft. In the end, my late arrival didn’t matter at all.
After this day, our summer routines switched up. Every day concluded with a race out to the raft. I didn’t win at first, but got a little faster and a little more confident each day. On the last day of summer, the final race of the season, I ended up getting to the raft first. My one and only win of that summer. In the end, I got the last laugh.
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