My fondest childhood memories took place during the long summer days while grown-ups were at work, and we neighborhood kids were at home with nothing but our imaginations, a few bikes, and the wild, natural world to keep us company. It was outdoor play that propelled me through childhood into the crazy world of adulthood. For my daughter's generation, which spends very little time outside, those joyful summer memories will be rare. Although I do not resent the role that technology plays in my daughter's world, there are some summertime experiences that I think all children deserve. I want my daughter to experience all of these things this summer.
1. I want my daughter to catch tadpoles in a pond. I don't care if she gets covered in mud and algae. I'd be happy to provide all the nets, cups, and fish-bowls she needs to capture wild tadpoles and fish-- and, of course, release them back where she caught them. Every child deserves to uncover the magic of an underwater world in her own backyard.
2. I want my daughter to fall out of a tree. I'm not looking forward to broken bones, but I actually can't wait for the day I hear a daring tale of escape from a particularly difficult tree. I want my daughter to skin a knee or bump an arm when a flimsy tree-limb snaps and catapults her six feet down. I'll be there to clean her cuts and put ice on her bruises while she triumphantly recounts the tale of the mile-high pine tree with the dove's nest.
3. I want my daughter to itch. A childhood isn't complete until you've stepped on at least one bee, accidentally upset an anthill, or hurried away from a swarm of mosquitoes. A childhood certainly isn't complete without at least one unnerving rash from poison ivy or wild parsnip. Calamine lotion and oatmeal baths exist for a reason, and I want my daughter to experience the feeling of bravery and humility after being bested by a creature thousands of times smaller than herself.
4. I want my daughter to imagine. Some of my best friends in early childhood were a flying horse named Moonbeam, a magnolia tree named Maggie, and a green monkey named Surge (who owes his namesake to the since-discontinued 1990s soda). My friends and I had an entire mystical world that opened up as soon as we counted down and leaped off our backyard swing-sets. I want my daughter to have the kind of magical summer that I remember.
5. I want my daughter to discover bugs, in all their forms. There are few things more wondrous than canning jar filled with a swarm of fireflies-- except, perhaps, the image of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. I want my daughter to see these things, as well as the pill-bugs, snails and centipedes under garden stepping-stones, and the praying mantises turning their heads inquisitively toward their prey.
6. I want my daughter to smell the summertime. To me, summer isn't summer without the smell of ripe blackberries and muscadines. Nor is it complete without the astringent scent of pine sap, tree blossoms. Mud, sunscreen, bug sprays, and rainstorms all smell like summer to me. Summertime is a sensory experience. Beyond heat and humidity, I want my daughter to remember her childhood summers as a time of rich scents, tastes, and sounds.
7. I want my daughter to feel the summer. An indoor life-- marked by screens and games, lights and air-conditioning, ceiling fans and closed blinds-- hides the seasons. One can go through an entire childhood with little notice of the length of the day or the feel of the air. I want my daughter to remember summer not just as a time without school, but as summer-- when the air is thick and humid and only a garden hose can provide relief from the unbearably hot sun.
8. I want my daughter to have a childhood, but the meaning of childhood has changed even in the two decades that have passed since I was her age. I don't want to go back or to undo the miracles that the technological world has brought, but I do want my child to have the experience of a true summer the way that I so nostalgically remember them. The iPods, the Wii, and the Leapster can wait until the colder months.
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