As I write this, I’m listening to the rain hit the back porch–a rare and lovely sound for this area of West Texas.  I know this, yet the sound also makes me sad.  I suppose it’s because I’ve been a little sad all week.  The beginning of school–or the end of summer–has always had that effect on me.

A few months ago, I spent Memorial Day, the kick-off to summer, with my family in Arkansas.  While there, we also celebrated my 40th birthday with an 80’s-themed party at my sister’s home.  Perhaps it was the trip back in time to the days of neon–or perhaps it was the fact that I turned 40–that I found myself feeling quite nostalgic on the way back to Texas.  As I listened to Sirius XM Radio, hits of the 80’s and 90’s, I began reminiscing.  I experienced that feeling I always associated with the beginning of summer–one of joy and possibility.  When I was a young “tween” and teenager, that was a magical time.  What would I do this summer?  Where would I go?  Would it be romantic and magical like the storylines of my favorite soap operas?  Would I find myself on a grand adventure like those in my favorite books?  The possibilities, at least so I thought, were endless.

Alas, my summer was never quite filled with those sorts of adventures–unless you count the ones I created in my mind.  Of course, I had days of sleepovers (bunkin’ parties), swimming, cheerleader camp, etc.  But they never quite matched the outrageous fun in my mind.  (Except one summer, I did meet a really cute pool boy on a trip to Florida–but that’s for another time).  In my mind, I became Madonna and Debbie Gibson as I listened to my sister’s cassette tapes and danced around the room in full costume.  When my friends and I watched New Kids on the Block videos, we truly believed we could be plucked from the crowd and given the undying love of Jordan or Donnie.  (Jordan is still the cutest.)  When I, slathered in baby oil, sunbathed in the back yard and read the entire Sweet Valley Twins series, I became Jessica and Elizabeth.  (Really, didn’t we all want to be Jessica?  She was the cooler one, right?  But I was definitely more of an Elizabeth.  I digress. . . )

When you’re 13 and without much of an active social life, the summer days sometimes drag on and on as you yearn for real-life adventure.  Such was the case for me.  Summers didn’t always fly by as they seem to today.  Nevertheless, each morning brought a new chance for fantasy and the possibility that, today, my fantasy just might come true.

Inevitably, fantasy gave way to reality as school lists once again adorned the aisles of local department stores.  For a moment, this would also excite me–oh, the possibilities of a new school year.  Would I be popular?  Would my secret crush finally reveal his love for me, as well?  Would we hold hands down the hallways of the school building?  Still, the Sunday evening before the first day of school, I typically found myself sitting outside and reminiscing.  Summer was over–all the grand adventures, real or imaginary, were complete.  And never again would I be 11, 12, 13, etc.  The school year, often a time of stress for me, signaled growing up, and I just wasn’t always ready to do that.

So it seems that with every school year since, I have felt that sense of sadness–not really dread, but the end of something.  The end of an era?  The end of childhood?  The end of innocence?  As my older son began third grade this week, I found myself crumpled into my husband’s arms as I cried.  I don’t want him to grow up.  I want him to be young and innocent forever.

Honestly, I will probably feel this way through much of September, typically a time of sadness for me.  But as football games, Halloween, and other fun fall activities take over our busy schedules, I will settle into the school year and experience all the joy that comes along with it.  I will stop grieving the time lost and look forward to the times ahead.  But for now, I am still a little sad.  Goodbye, magical summer . . .