What I Actually Said...

My unedited story about "Heat," submitted to The Sun Magazine:




I grew up in a small town near the "thumb" of Michigan. Winters were long and cold, and spring and fall were fleeting. Summers seemed to last forever. The days were hot and humid, and sometimes it was hard to sleep in our un-air conditioned house. (I remember being escorted home from a date one evening, to find my entire family sprawled on the living room floor -- the only room with a window unit.)

Growing up with five siblings meant there was always someone around to play with. That was good, because we had to entertain ourselves a lot during the summertime, when vacation from school meant that poor Mom wasn't getting any breaks!

My mother used to send us out to play, and then lock the door so we couldn't get back in. I thought she was cruel. We were so hellbent on thinking of ways to get her to open that screen door, that we could scarcely concentrate on our play.

Mom, I'm thirsty!

I have to go to the bathroom.

I think I'm going to throw up!

Please, Mom -- There's bees out here!

I saw a snake!


Nothing worked. She always made us "go" before we went out. She'd bring glasses of water to the door. She told us to just stand still if there were bees, and to stay away from snakes (which were the non-poisonous garden variety, anyway).

Once, my sister was stung eight times by a wasp which had flown into the armhole of her romper. She got to go inside and get baking soda and cold cream applied to her back. I didn't think it was worth it.

I remember the heat of those summer days -- The smell of the vegetable garden being "steamed," the sound of the cicadas, the prickly feel of the dry grass on our bare feet. The itchy, sweaty feeling that wouldn't go away, even if we took off our shirts, and the way the sand and straw from the barn would stick to our skin. (But it was cooler in that barn.)

I remember being allowed to bring a blanket from the house so we could lie on the grass under the big pine tree in the front yard, and I remember making tents with the blanket and chairs on the front porch -- and nearly suffocating.

And I remember Mom telling us that if we'd be good and not fight, Dad would take us to the lake when he got home from work -- Something to live for!

When I grew up, we moved North Carolina...

Summers -- indeed all the seasons -- go by fast now. The heat from June through August is relentless and brutal. There are still cicadas and snakes -- poisonous ones -- but they don't bother me, because I rarely go outside, other than to dash from my air conditioned house to my air conditioned car.

I wouldn't dream of locking my kids outdoors in the heat of the summer.

But I can understand why my mom did it. And you know what? Those are some pretty happy memories.

Published!

(This photo of my great-niece, Natalie, was taken a couple of years ago in Glen Carbon, Illinois. It has nothing to do with my story, other than that it was hot that day!)



The Sun magazine, published in Chapel Hill, NC, has a monthly column called "Readers Write." Every month, readers are given a broad topic, and asked only that stories submitted be true. I was so excited to have my "heat" story chosen for the July issue, I could hardly wait to share. This is the edited version...


I grew up in a small town in Michigan, where spring and fall were fleeting but summer seemed to last forever. The days were hot and humid, and sometimes it was hard to sleep in our un-airconditioned house. I remember being escorted home once from a date to find my entire family sprawled on the floor in the living room — the only room with a window unit.

My five siblings and I had to entertain ourselves during summer vacation. Mom used to send us outside to play and then lock the door so we couldn’t get back in. We tried everything to get her to open that door.

“Mom, I’m thirsty!”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I think I’m going to throw up!”

“Please, Mom. There’s bees out here!”

“I just saw a snake!”

Nothing worked. She always made us use the bathroom before we went outside, and the snakes were all nonpoisonous.

Once, my sister was stung eight times by a wasp that had flown into the armhole of her romper. She got to go inside and have baking soda and cold cream applied to the stings. I was jealous.

I remember the sound of cicadas buzzing, the smell of vegetables being steamed right in the garden, the prickly feel of the dry grass on our bare feet, the way the sand and straw from the barn would stick to our skin. (But it was cooler in that barn.)

I remember being allowed to bring a blanket from the house so that we could lie on the grass under the big pine tree in the front yard. We made tents with the blanket and front-porch chairs and nearly suffocated inside them.

And I remember Mom telling us that if we’d be good and not fight, Dad would take us to the lake when he got home from work.

Now I live in North Carolina. The heat here from June through August is brutal. There are still cicadas and snakes — including some poisonous ones — but they don’t bother me, because I rarely go outside, other than to dash from my air-conditioned house to my air-conditioned car.