I Don’t Chase Trucks Anymore (But I Still Love Summer)

Joyful summertime memories from my youth come rushing back whenever I smell the chlorine in a swimming pool, feel the oils in a coconut-scented suntan lotion, get the late-night itch after a sunburn, or hear the sound of crickets on a warm, starry night. I smile when I think back on fun times, then pause because I cannot wrap my brain around how quickly that season of life passed.

Once I accept that those things did not happen yesterday, I let myself sink into the privilege of reminiscing about the activities my neighborhood friends and I did on a hot June evening. My mind immediately goes to the energetic game called "TV Tag".

Lit only by the porch light and hundreds of lightning bugs with their blinky butts, we would stick our feet into a circle and count off while chanting “Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?” Whoever the rhyme landed on was declared “it,” and the rest of us would take off running like our lives depended on it. We would dive to the ground and shout out names like Sesame Street, Fat Albert, or Electric Company to avoid being tagged, because no one wanted to be the next "it".

When we were finally called inside, forced by our parents, our sweaty bangs would be stuck to our foreheads, our knees would be green with grass stains, and we would sleep like a log, absolutely convinced that this was the height of fun.

Another favorite activity was something we named "Monster Cloud". This game was created during a time when our city was overrun with plague-carrying mosquitoes, so the street department would send giant trucks through town at dusk, spraying a glowing cloud of insecticide. Naturally, every kid under sixteen chased those trucks like they were giving out gold, running straight into the bug-killing cool mist and pretending it was an alien monster sucking us in. Meanwhile, our parents sat on the porch, laughing, completely unbothered by the fact that we were inhaling enough chemicals to qualify us as a science experiment. Honestly, I’m shocked I don’t glow in the dark as adults.

Trucks full of poisonous gases were not the only ones that we ran after. We also chased the proprietor of the ice cream truck, or, as we called him, the Ding-ding man. The moment I heard his chime four blocks away, the begging began. Mom would graciously pull out her change purse and hand over the coins I needed to buy a banana-fudge bomb pop, then send me out to perform a transaction with a total stranger...a man who was never questioned about where he got the ice cream he was peddling to children, or if he was in the witness protection program. I trusted that the adults in my life thought this was a good idea, so I spent my energy trying to eat my tasty treat without it melting or falling off the stick, rather than worrying about being kidnapped.

As I got older, I spent less time chasing trucks and more time chasing boys. Summer became about skinny-dipping in the lake, staying up all night talking on the phone about my latest crush, and, of course, the drive-in.

For those who have never experienced the magic of a drive-in theater, let me paint the picture. It was a giant parking lot with a huge movie screen at one end. On warm nights, you and 10–15 of your closest friends would pile into a four-seater car (long before seat belt laws), find a spot in the back row, and hang a half-working speaker on your window. A B-grade movie would start playing, but no one really cared about the quality because we were going to laugh and talk through the whole thing anyway. We would pile out of our cars, climb on the hoods, and make out under the stars. Even the swarms of mosquitoes didn’t matter, as fun outweighed itchy welts every time.

I loved summer then, and I still love it now. It just looks different. I know about EPA regulations, and I try not to run unless I’m on fire, so I won’t chase a truck spewing toxic chemicals again. Instead, I can sit on my deck and smile at the lightning bugs that are dancing around in the night sky while listening to Yacht Rock radio.

Skinny-dipping is also off the table because my reputation cannot survive an indecent exposure charge, but I can still have a blast in a crystal-clear pool wearing my one-piece swimsuit with the necessary underwire support bra and extra length to cover my jiggly thighs, and the Ding-ding man has been replaced with the ability to hop into my own car, crank up my own music, and head to the nearest Baskin-Robbins and get whatever ice cream I want. No longer do I need to wait for a possible felon to bring me a summertime treat, so this is a definite upgrade from my younger days.

And the drive-in? Well, I may not be able to make out with my honey by the glow of the giant hot dog dancing on the big screen because the drive-ins have all closed down, but we can still smooch and cuddle on the couch in front of our TV, surrounded by all of the things that we love, whenever we please.

Sure, summer looks different now, but that doesn’t mean the joy has to fade. I’m committed to making new memories on purpose — because I’m not buying the idea that my best summers are in the rearview mirror. I am going to make sure that future‑me will be able to look back with a smile and think, “Each summer just keeps getting better.”