The Day When Summer Began

By Jeanne Moseley

As a child, I always had trouble sleeping the night before any big event. And nothing was much more notable in my young life than the last day of school. So, as I read "final day of school" in our hometown newspaper the other day, my stomach began to fill with butterflies and I felt like I was 10 years old again.

A benefit of living in the town where I grew up is the opportunity to visit locations that were once central to my life. So today I drove to the intersection of Pensacola Street and Richmond Lane. I could almost see my friends in the distance slowly approaching this popular meeting place. These streets crossed in our town's first subdivision, where many of us lived, and was also just a block or so away from Northside Elementary.

Most everything was new, including our homes and our school. Yet few of us had air conditioning and the only cooling system at Northside was the breeze that swept across a bank of open windows. So we were especially thrilled when Principal May Morris would depart from her strict dress code and allow us to wear shorts the last remaining day of school.

Since we'd already turned in our books a day or so before, about the only item we carried that last day would have been our lunch kits. I can almost see those pictures of Roy, Dale or Gene bouncing along our young sides as we hurried toward Brown Street and off to school.

We always expected to get out early on that last school day, but nevertheless, our destiny remained in the hands of Miss Morris, who always seemed determined to reign over her students until the very last minute.

All day the teachers would whisper, "Shush. If you'll be quiet and behave, maybe Miss Morris will let you out early." And I think for the most part, that approach worked, because I don't recall any playground fights or major incidents during that final and fun day.

And so the announcement would always come, and the once stern principal would stand at the school doors with a warm embrace for all her students. We'd smother our teachers with hugs and linger on the playground only long enough to say good-bye to those riding the bus.

Back in my car, I traveled past the house on Pensacola Street where we'd lived during the late 1950s and where I had enjoyed many "last day of school" celebrations with my friends. With this sweet history my only companion, I turned onto Brown Street and then past Northside School. There, in my memory, stood Miss Morris with her arms waving and her smile wishing me a happy summer.