5 Summer Things That Remind Me of My Father

 

My father always loved summer. He was born in late July, smack in the middle of the season, the lushest, most verdant time of year. I think of my dad all the time since he passed away eight years ago, but especially this time of year. Here are five summer things that always remind me of him…

Seeing kids playing with their Dad in the water – Whether the pool or the ocean, Dad loved splashing around and tossing my sister Jane, brother Eric, and me into the water, squealing, and begging for more. Sometimes he pretended to be a dolphin and I’d hold on to his shoulders, as he swam along under the surface. He taught us all to swim. First the doggie paddle and then as we grew older, the crawl, learning to turn our heads in and out, as we plowed along. Whenever I see kids playing in water with their father, I think of my Dad.

The smell of suntan lotion – I remember sitting on a blanket at Candlewood Lake as a ‘tween, watching the “older” girls of 15 and 16, slathering themselves with Coppertone. My father would say, “Laurie, let’s swim to the dock,” interrupting my spying. Although scared of the deep water, I’d go with him, and he’d edge me slowly to the float, about fifty feet from shore. We’d sit for a while, and I’d feel happy and safe. We’d come back and that scent of Coppertone would still be in the air, full of possibility and the feeling that I’d been brave. When I catch a whiff of it today, I still think of my father and those summer swims.

Certain songs on the radio – In 1968, our family would drive back from the beach on the Post Road in Westport, Connecticut. Songs like “Grazing in the Grass” by Friends of Distinction would play as Dad drove us along, singing himself sometimes, his delight evident in these freewheeling moments. With Mom in the front, and the three of us in back, wrapped in beach towels, and eating popsicles, we’d listen to Dan Ingram on 77 WABC AM radio. The other day, I heard Grazing in the Grass on Alexa and thought of my father’s summer cruising.

Fresh summer vegetables – If we happened upon a farmer’s stand, my father had to pull over and buy a bag of ripe, red tomatoes. Once home, he’d pull one out and eat it like an apple, salting each bite, giving happy moans. A fresh ear of corn with loads of butter was a close second. My father was never happier than when he was with his family, especially as it grew over the years, sharing the bounty of the season. “Grandpa eats tomatoes weird,” my son Patrick once noted when he was little. “He’s enjoying life,” I said. And it was true.

The Yankees – The crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the announcer cheering a home-run, always brings me back to when I was a kid. My father loved the Yankees, especially those summer games when he cheered on Willie Randolph or Thurman Munson. The joy he received from baseball even helped in his later years when he was housebound from late-stage Parkinson’s. By now, my father could barely move, speak, or eat. And yet, his face still lit up at the prowess of Derek Jeter or Alex Rodriquez. Whenever I see or hear summer baseball, I think of Dad.

Grief is strange. When he died, I felt like Dad had been released from a body that no longer worked. It was for the best. And yet as time goes on, the sadness of missing him grows deeper, the knowing I’ll never see him again hurts more.

I like to think Dad’s out there somewhere, still enjoying these beautiful, summer days. When I hear the crack of a bat, or smell suntan lotion, or hear kids squealing with their father in a pool, I always think of my dad—and I miss him.

 

Do certain summer memories bring back a loved one? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like posts sent to your email, just press here. Thank you.