Summer's End

Last night I hosted an old-fashioned sleepover. Five of my closest friends came over and we enjoyed a lovely night filled with s'mores, pajamas, tea, junk food, pillows, chatting, and cats (at least there were always cats at my sleepovers). Before the girls came I unraveled six wire hangers to use for toasting the mallows and lit the three fire pits in my backyard. I love sitting outside on summer nights. We gathered around my family's homemade picnic table on the patio and chatted over iced tea, fruit and dip, and everyone's favorite campfire classic.

The sleepover was really fun, maybe because it transported us back to our junior high days of orange and blue P.E. uniforms, humiliating flexed arm hang experiences, science fair projects, scarring images of Mr. Stipp doing Taebo, talking back to our Spanish teacher, being taller than all the guys (I never had this problem and still don't), and over all awkwardness.

"Do you remember when Mrs. J was pregnant and she sat down on her stool and it collapsed?"

"What about when Mr. Weimer's projector lit on fire and he yelped 'What do I do?'"

"Or when Courtney Williams shot the rubberband down Mrs. Higgins' shirt?"

"Miss P's constant neck bobbing as a result of her enthusiam for art?"

"Q: If you could bring only one thing to survive when you were stranded, what would it be? A: Books. (Long Pause) In case the fire gets dim."

The memories just kept pouring out. We didn't have to behave like our current selves as young adults in their twenties with part-time jobs and other commitments. We were once again in junior high when we didn't have many other commitments besides solving simple algebraic equations at night. I don't look back on junior high with nostalgia; I have no desire to return. But remembering it is fun. It's always good for a laugh or two, discussing how each other's history intersects with another until they all combine to become different parts of one long story--your shared history.