Memories of blissful summers past

When I think of summer I picture barbecues, swimming pools and days that lasted forever. When I think of summer spent at school I think of one thing: stress. In the midst of 8 a.m. classes, I-Core, internships and working, summer has lost its charm for the students of Indiana University. I first came to this conclusion one afternoon while waiting in line for my daily latte and caffeine jolt. While I stood pondering over my own issues of the moment, which ranged from fears of graduating during our first economic recession since the early '90s to where I was going to find the money to go out to the bars that night, I took a look at my surroundings. \nWhat I saw were students in the same sort of problematic daze as I was. There were discussions ranging from trying to find a second job to trying to find time in between jobs to study for midterms. There were students huddled inside their books trying to figure out when exactly they would be using this information in real life. As my eyes scanned the coffeehouse I caught a glimpse of two girls walking their bikes down Indiana Avenue. They were probably only 9 or 10 years old and their innocence brought me back to the summers I spent as a grade schooler. \nThose summers were probably some of the most fun, stress-free three months of my life. The day consisted of waking up and jumping into my swimsuit and heading off to the local swimming pool with the neighborhood kids. Back then your friends weren't the kids in your pledge class or the kids that had the same major as you. They were the kids that lived the closest to you. If they lived close enough to where you could ride your bike they were your best friends. I would spend all day with this group of kids at the pool trying to see who could stay under the water the longest and rounding up enough money to buy a snack at the concession stand. \nAfter a day at the pool I would head home to find my mother cooking a meal that my family would enjoy out on the patio. During the summers we would rarely eat indoors. Our meals were always accompanied by a beautiful sunset. As night would fall our neighborhood group would meet back up for one of two things: a game of ghost in the graveyard or a game of spin the bottle. The girls would always want to play spin the bottle while the boys would always want to play ghost in the graveyard. Needless to say I did a lot more chasing than I did kissing that summer. \nThat summer was the summer we all graduated from sixth grade. With the end of that summer came an end to a certain innocence you have in grade school. After that there was no question between playing ghost in the graveyard or spin the bottle. In fact I do believe that was the last summer I ever used the catch phrase "you're it". As junior high approached we were all in such a hurry to grow up without realizing the burdens of being all grown up. I know now what it is to have grown up and I sometimes wish I could go back to my grade school summers. The only real stress we had was trying to make it back to home base without being tagged and hoping that when you spin the bottle you'll only have to kiss the cheek of the awkward boy next door.\nI know that life will soon become more stressful when I graduate and enter the real world, but I still have a full year of being just a student. It doesn't matter that I am no longer in sixth grade. Even though running through a sprinkler for hours no longer appeals to me, having a stress-free summer does appeal to me. No, I didn't trade in my car for a Schwinn with a white basket attached to the front, but the afternoon that I saw those two little girls with their bikes I did do some regressing. I drove home and picked up my roommate Monica, who was trying to recover from a day of exams. We headed to the pool with a small cooler full of ice pops that we shared with a group of kids after an exhausting game of marco polo. My problems might not have disappeared, but I felt a little more optimistic while trying to figure out how I was going pay the $60 minimum on my credit card.