The dog days of August, which began in July, were the hottest, most humid period of our summer vacation, so named because of Sirius, the Dog Star, and its imagined influence on the weather. These were also the days when back-to-school sales began, a source of dread for us and excitement for our parents. As parents ourselves, we later came to understand this shift in perspective.
My parents never had much money, unlike those gilded individuals in more affluent parts of Park Ridge. Our relative poverty deprived us of frequent trips to Dairy Queen and Pines Store for Men. But the annual trip to buy school supplies was a carte blanche experience during which I not only received pencils, a ruler, eraser, scissors, and a variety of other less exciting items like mucilage, notebook paper, and Elmer’s Glue, but also my yearly brilliant white and spectacularly special gym shoes, generally PF Flyers or Keds. I outgrew these long before they wore out, but they came home with me the following June, carried in a brown paper grocery bag of locker contents, and served me well for another season of plowing fields and laying in the corn and wheat.
Honestly, when Mom told me to go out and play after breakfast, the screen door slammed shut behind me, and I disappeared to parts unknown until I caught the requisite quota of nightly fireflies at sunset. But we called them lightning bugs, and did unspeakable things to them. For our crimes, we were sentenced to a lifetime as adults, looking back fondly on our unfettered times of freedom and joy. Good times.