Summer Lessons

It's the day after Labor Day. Kids in school; wife at the corporate grindstone; dog at the groomer's being sanded down from two weeks of skirting tropical depressions and jellyfish. Me, I've assumed my usual position here while finishing the last known helping of Sierra Nevada Summerfest in town.

Beyond my front bay window, the tulip tree is shedding in the weakened UV.

The season is gone and I missed it.

Hit rewind, I say to my 12-ounce friend, be it digitally enhanced, left in scrawl on scraps in and under my desk or simply riding the wild synapses between gray spots in the brain:

My son has it right. Given no place to go and nothing to do, stay in pajamas all day and indulge in the laziness of the long days. (Note to self: Remind wife of this before next year's beach trip. Will make packing easier and leave room in minivan for golf clubs and other adult toys.)

Minor league stadiums that hold 10:35 a.m. baseball games for the benefit of summer camp still serve beer. Just be sure neither your ID nor money are counterfeit, according to the woman at the stand.

Your son will find the baby spiders that hatch in the corner of the window "awesome." Your daughter will take a can of Raid to Charlotte's brood the second your back is turned.

No matter how much those Cold Stone Creamery teens sing and chop and dice and stuff your ice cream, you will still be happier with a butterscotch-dipped vanilla cone from the lone Dairy Queen in town.

Just because your neighbors have a pool doesn't mean they will ever invite you to use it.

Just because you belong to a club with a pool doesn't mean you will ever want to use it because of things such as "floaters" and "teabags."

When no one can agree on a movie for the whole family to watch, "Scooby Doo" cartoons never fail. Except the ones with the Scrappy, of course.

Golf lessons for your daughter doesn't guarantee her enjoying the butt-whipping you give her at Putt-Putt any more than usual.

The money you shelled out for your son's two weeks of camp at the shore will be worth it when he teaches you something you wish you had taught him about life in the wild.

The second you start to enjoy the benefits of an unusually cool, wet summer in the Northeast, a heatwave will smack you upside your pasty face and your central A/C will blow.

Give a child a digital camera at the zoo and you end up deleting lots of blurry, furry blobs.

Offering your son some of your pizza fritta at the church fair is a sign of your love, but maybe not so much after he just puked from riding the "Dizzy Dragons."

Tennis lessons may have brought the kiddies a new appreciation of what is happening down there on the court of the U.S. Open, but it won't diminish their appetite for $12 nachos, $6 Ben & Jerry bars and any other overpriced snack being offered by the vendors

And that Summerfest lager. The label is right. "Crisp" is the best word for it.

Crisp like an autumn breeze at an early dusk.