When I was growing up in the Chicago suburbs, the school year did not end until the middle of June. Memorial Day (which was not yet a Monday holiday, but always the 30th of May) was just one day off of school, and when I was in high school it was not even a day off, since the marching band took part in Memorial Day activities at the local cemeteries. One of the first high points of summer, then, would be Independence Day with its parade and fireworks. Vacation Bible School happened some time in the summer—I cannot remember if it usually happened before or after July 4, but I suspect that some years it was before and other years it was after. Then, the other grand event was the DuPage County Fair. Being active in 4-H, I always had projects to prepare for exhibit at the fair. Then came the spectacular four-day celebration with carnival rides and meals at the fair, side shows and exhibits of various kinds, barn after barn of farm animals to visit, and all the sights and sounds and smells that meant a county fair. There was also an air show at the nearby DuPage County Airport every July. Many of the airplanes would fly over our house, practicing their routines in the days before the show. And, of course, everyone for miles around knew when the big act arrived—the Air Force Thunderbirds and the Navy Blue Angels in alternate years.
I read a lot during the summer. The library always had a reading program. I always took part, and I always won first prize. I lived within walking distance of the library, so I could visit every day, check out books, and even start reading while I was walking home. There were also books at home that I read every summer: Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, Heidi, Five Little Peppers, Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, and a few others. I could ride my bike up to the school playground and swing on the swings, or I could take a ride through the neighborhood. And, of course, there were gardening chores—pulling weeks—with the benefit of fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden.
My father generally took a week of vacation in August for a small family trip. Until I was in high school, those trips were not out of the region—when my mother’s parents stopped traveling because of their declining health, they gave large Christmas gifts to my parents so they could travel, and we finally got to see the Rocky Mountains and other sights in the west. I have dim childhood memories of a rented cabin in a state park—Starved Rock, if I remember correctly. Our vacation stays did not get any more primitive than a cabin. My father said that he slept in tents often enough in the army to satisfy him with that experience for life.
School started again the last days of August. For me that was another landmark event, seeing friends I hadn’t seen during the summer, and settling into a new classroom with a new teacher and a new routine for the year. For me, summer was just long enough and just full enough that I didn’t become bored, but I didn’t regret going back to school. J.