The Scene staff
Fall is here, and every year about this time, I start to regret the things I didn’t do over the summer.
This year, I can’t even fall back on hot temperatures as an excuse. The weather was pretty mild. Nor can I pretend I was bored with what St. Louis had to offer. It’s only my second year in the city, and there’s a lot I haven’t seen or done.
I certainly kept busy this summer, after the stressful but awesome rush of marrying my awesome wife in March. I took two classes (getting college algebra out of the way once and for all) and put in 30 hours a week at my retail job.
At semester’s end, I started working on my deck. I discovered the supports had rotted, and I figured I should fix the problem before someone fell through. What was going to be a weekend project turned into a month-long job.
But I still feel wistful for all the things I should have done. I should have attended a few more Cards games. I should have gone swimming more. I should have painted my house. I should have this, I should have that. … The list goes on.
Part of my wistfulness comes from vague and sometimes-false memories of summers back home in rural Indiana.
I have vivid recollections of awesome stuff I did as a kid: building forts in the woods, going fishing and swimming in a nearby creek, tagging along with my dad on the farm, playing baseball in Little League and riding my bike all over creation.
When I think back, however, it’s not long before I remember that these activities were spread over a period of years. No summers were absolutely packed with fun stuff. In truth, they weren’t so different from my summers now.
In grade school, summer clubs and advanced classes kept me busy in the first few weeks after the school year ended. Sometime in June, the woods became overgrown, making it troublesome to wade through briars and thorns and dodge poison ivy.
As I got older, tagging along with Dad became working with Dad, baling hay, sorting hogs and picking up rocks in the fields. The shine also wore off of Little League when the team realized it was headed for another third-place finish for the season (out of four teams).
Bike trips as a kid usually involved peddling three miles to my granddad’s house to mow his 2-acre lawn.
When I let the veneer of glorious childhood summers fall away and face reality, it’s easier to cope with the thought of yet another “wasted” summer.
It’s easier not to promise myself that next summer will be different — a promise I’ve been making more years than I can recall. It’s easier to focus on what’s keeping me busy now: school, work, The Scene, my family and home-improvement projects.
I also remember that fall is my favorite season. It means day hikes along the Missouri River, backyard bonfires, tailgating, college football and temperatures that allow me to wear jeans again comfortably.
When I think about summer in the context of things I did manage to get done, combined with what I expect to do this fall, I don’t feel so many regrets.