Memories of My Childhood (December 10, 2017)

It’s a long narrow downhill path, full of rocks, branches, and fallen leaves from the sky rocketing trees. My bare feet ache as I speed down, trying to beat my sister. To the left I see the lake through the trees that I whip by. The final challenge is getting down the stairs. I jump and my feet thump on the wood dock. Panting, I breathe in the muggy, hot summer day. We can taste the salty sweat dripping from our faces. My sister and I look at each other, and simultaneously run and jump into the cold water of the lake of our childhood. Our feet plunder to the bottom to be met with seaweed and sand. I try to hold my breath for as long as I can, then launch myself back up to the surface to refill my empty lungs. The sounds of my sister bobbing up and down to  warm up make me laugh, and I join in. Boats speed past us, sending huge waves for us to float over. They crash into the rock wall that lines the narrow downhill path. Our hands slowly start to prune, signaling that we should soon get out.

The echo of my mother’s steps coming down the path prompt us to finish up our playtime, knowing she will bring us food. Sure enough as we head over to her, leaving a trail of water, we see the sandwiches in her hands. We plop down at the picnic table and devour our lunch. Already having two towels laid out, we rest, regaining the energy to jump back in. The hot sun beating down on us, burning our pale skin.

We are awakened by the wet slobbery tongues of our puppies licking the few drops of water left on our otherwise dry bodies. We jump up and down when we see dad coming down the path with the boat keys. We take our naturally assigned seats in the front of our blue speed boat. Dad revs the engine and attaches the tube to the back. I call dibs on going first and fasten my life vest. Dad brings the boat to a stop and I jump into the tube. Dad whips me around the lake, aiming for the big waves to knock me off, but I hold on. I imagine riding a bull and holding on for dear life as he bucks and tries to kick me off. Water is splashing in my face, but I won’t close my eyes. I won’t miss the scene of the boat taking quick corners, the sun reflecting off of it. Seeing my sister cheering me on and also making sure I’m okay from the back of the boat, and the look of horror on my moms face as I become airborne. Knowing I’ve been on long enough and that my sister is waiting, I make a big spectacle of flying off and frantically wave my little arms so dad can see me. The other perspective of watching my sister is just as fun. Except she is now the one with the look of horror, but eventually it turns into a laughing smile.

We anchor the boat at the island and jump out to start our journey. Dad explains for the 100th time about how there used to be a man who lived here until his house burnt down. We never know whether to believe his stories or not. We navigate the island like the back of our hands – it’s not hard since we’ve been on this island everyday of every summer. We pass the burned down fireplace remains and know that the small opening to the lake is coming up. This wasn’t just any opening, though. This opening had a rope swing that has been there as long as we can remember. My sister goes first – she is a complete monkey. She runs back, winding herself up to then launch forward into the deep lake. Then it is my turn and I almost land right on her, but she moves in time. After we decide we are done, we yell for mom and dad who are walking around this island; the island my dad has walked on for the past 50 years. We find them and head back towards the boat.

Slowly we make our way back. Waving to the fellow boats that pass by. Our dock grows closer and closer until we arrive safely. The small square dock at the end of the long narrow path where we spent endless summer days, enjoying our childhood, until the cold of winter brought new adventures.

Five years later I sit on this small square dock, taking in the scenery for one last time. One last time before we sell the big white house with the big red barn that has been in our family for generations. The hot summer air taking me back to those wonderful memories that will always stay with me. Memories of the summers that I spent on this small square dock at the end of the long narrow path. Memories of my childhood.