HOT SUMMER NIGHTS

On hot summer nights, we would, my brothers and I, go up to grandma and grandpa’s apartment on the second floor of our house and sit out back on their porch. It was the shady side of the house so it was cooler up there. We’d sit with a cold drink and some cookies in the waning evening light and watch the sky change colors. Planes slowly made their way across the horizon on a long descent into Idlewild Airport. Birds flew in formation.

“Those are killy-lou birds,” Grandpa intoned.

“What are killy-lou birds, Grandpa?” we’d all chime.

“Killy-lou birds fly backwards to keep the dust out of their eyes! Watch! Do you see them flying backwards?,” he’d ask excitedly.

We’d sit and watch intently but we never could tell whether they were flying backwards. Grandpa always assured us they were.

I wish I could see killy-lou birds again.

Sometimes on hot summer nights, Dad packed us up in the car and drove us to Rockaway Beach to watch the free fireworks. There was always a breeze off the ocean and the air smelled of salt, hot dogs and cotton candy. We’d sit on the edge of the boardwalk, careful not to get splinters in our fannies. I’d stick my hands into my sweaty armpits and surreptitiously sniff the sweet, earthy odor that came away with them. I tried my best to ignore my brothers who acted like morons. Mom would ooh and aah over every rocket blast but too soon it was over and, as the last sparkle drifted down and sizzled out in the water, we turned and went home.

I wished I could sleep on the beach, all night.

On hot summer July 4th nights, Dad would let us have sparklers in front of the house. I’d wave them around and feel the tiny pricks when the sparkles landed on my arms. Dad’s favorite though was to set off big firecrackers. Sometimes he would put them under a metal garbage pail and run like hell. The blast seemed enough to knock houses off their foundations.

I wish I could have sparklers again.

On hot summer nights, at my best friend’s beach house, it was often too hot to sleep in the attic room so we’d talk and giggle far into the night. One night we saw a light flashing from out on Long Island Sound. We decided to signal back with our flashlight. I think I got the idea from reading too many sea-faring stories. Little did we know that we were luring a boat to the rough shore. Kathy’s father ran down to the beach and managed to avert the boat before it ran aground. Needless to say we were in big trouble. In our adult lives, Kathy and I drifted apart and eventually lost entire contact with each other but that’s another story.

I wish knew where Kathy is now.

On hot summer nights, my boyfriend and I would go out on his boat, drifting and gazing at the millions of stars in the sky, stars that danced like fireflies and twinkled like tiny, baby teardrops. Sometimes dolphins would splash by. The boyfriend’s long gone but,

I wish I could see the stars again.

On hot summer nights, while camping, it was never too hot to make a campfire. My kids would gather round and we’d roast marshmallows and make camp pies. They never seemed to mind the heat. A campfire was de rigueur for them.

I wish I could smell that wood fire again.

On a hot summer night in July, 1986, our whole family gathered at my brother’s house in Jersey City in celebration of the Statue of Liberty Centennial. Elaborate fireworks were planned for the night and we all trooped to the waterfront overlooking New York Harbor to watch the festivities. My mother was as excited as a little kid, and worried that it might rain and spoil the celebration. As it turned out everything was wonderful. Mom oohed and aahed just as she had some thirty years before on the boardwalk.

I wish I could see my Mom again.