I vaguely remember eating giant strawberries out of our garden when I was seven. From the ground, into my mouth. No rinsing needed/wanted/suggested. I remember riding my big plastic Big Wheel up and down my street, using the hand brake to spin out. I remember running through an empty and abandoned lot playing cops and robbers, cowboys and indians, hide and seek with the neighborhood kids. I remember flocked velvet wallpaper and horribly beautiful beads separating my childhood home’s dining room from our living room.
I remember being seven years old. Summers lasted forever and the world belonged to me. Magic was a daily occurrence and lady bugs were my friends. I cannot watch closely enough as Roan lives his seven-year-old life. I think we would have been childhood friends, he and I. This is the age that most of my memories begin. How lucky am I, to be able to live it again with my son?
Welcome, Summer. We’ve got some magic to make. What do you remember about Summer from when you were seven?