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A show on radio last night was talking about the “Sweet 16” of memories of our childhood. Theirs were lame (Hostess Cupcakes, Ding Dongs)

1) a glass bottle of ice water in the fridge;
2) iced tea on hot summer days (mint in it if available);
3) fried chicken, mashed potatoes, chicken gravy, green beans, sliced homegrown tomatoes with Vidalia onions sliced on top and a sweetened vinaigrette;
4) porch swings and the baseball game softly on the radio;
5) swimming in the lake and falling out of a tire swing into it;
6) hide and seek after dark
7) snowcones and tilt-a-whirls (not necessarily at the same time)
8) old-school street lights coming on and the sound of the metal wheels of the paper boy’s cart on the sidewalk and hearing “Pa—per! Getchur evening pa—per,” as I’d fall asleep
9) playing Three Shades of a Ghost or Twenty Questions sitting on the porch swing
10) my father playing the guitar and singing “Five Foot Two” or “The Sheik of Ara-bi” and laughter at the parodies he’d do of “The Sheik”
11) Special “Hot Cross Buns” for Lent
12) Church on Sunday mornings — dressed in our best with white gloves and a bonnet, to boot
13) washing the dirt out of the creases in the bathtub at night and that feeling when you step out of the tub — scalded and clean
14) no shoes at no time (except Sundays) during the summer and not having the stones hurt your feet when you walked
15) being gone on my bicycle from breakfast to sundown all summer long
16) okay, so maybe a Hostess Cupcake, but homemade chocolate chip cookies or hot cherry pie was so much better. How 'bout yours?

Chasing fireflies at dusk and catching June bugs in the morning. Running through soft green grass before May storms trying to gather the wind. My grandmother's cold bread pudding and Chess pie. A good book and a Maple tree.

Acres and acres of afternoon. (Borrowed from an old Reader's Digest found in a Doctor's office.)

How do you catch a feeling? (God, I miss the South.)

Loved your post. I came to enjoy sweet tea, even though I am a Connecticut Yankee. My Tennessee grandmother, transplanted to Cape Cod, brought it with her. My childhood summers at her house included bacon and butter sandwiches and a glass of that sweet tea at the crack of dawn;
- striding knee deep, gathering Pleasant Bay quahogs in seawater so cold it made your feet cramp up;
- evenings on her screened porch 50 yards from the beach;
- mornings where the fog was so thick, the only sensory input was the smell of beach roses;
- spearfishing enough flounder in a half hour to feed the whole family;
- Friday night band concerts at the town green, kids running through the summer night while parents sat on blankets forming a "home base";
- Art Gould's boats for rent - the crustiest old yankee SOB you ever came across, until you learned of his WWII exploits as skipper of a destroyer and gained some respect;
- rediscovering my fishing rod complete with last year's dried out sandworm still on the hook, sitting in the garden shed that was 120 degrees hot and smelled so strongly of rose dust that you thought you might be fumigated;
- the smell of the giant honeysuckle on the back fence;
- the light from Chatham lighthouse up the street racing across the outer bar and blinking in the upstairs bedroom.

I realize that much of my adult ambition stems from trying to recreate that time and place. My backyard smells of beach roses and honeysuckle, and occasionally, when my good wife allows, we all indulge in bacon and butter sandwiches (now named "Thelmas" in honor of my wonderful grandmother).

“1) a glass bottle of ice water in the fridge;”

My old man always had a bottle of ice water in the fridge. One early Saturday morning I grabbed the bottle with two hands, it slipped though my fingers and right on my right foot big toe.

Lost the nail a few weeks later and the damned thing grew back as an ingrown. Still bothers me to this day.