The Square Life

Man, winter. What is that season ever good for? Frozen ankles and frosty windshields? No thanks. Now, summer. That is a season I can get behind. In summer, you have pool hops with stealthy cannonballs and Sno cones melting fast and syrupy. Don’t forget gulping down a frosty mug of root beer after a day at the lake. My brothers and I started naming our summers a few years ago, each of the themes sounding like bad movies from the eighties.

I think the very first named summer was called the “Root Beer Summer.” No matter the day’s exploits, my brothers, a few friends, and I would end our day around a kitchen table with frosty mugs of root beer. We began sampling and rating different root beers because, well, we’re nerds. To keep the flavor pure, we would keep frosty mugs in the freezer and not dilute the flavor with ice. Man, was that a great summer. It wasn’t the root beer chugging that made the season so great (some nights we had frozen custard), but the theme gave us something to rally behind. We had a proud banner to wave.

Whether we had been wake-boarding at Jordanelle reservoir, or had a good day at work, or had received well deserved attention from a lady friend, every night we celebrated with a frosty mug. We’d go over the day and dispute the merits of the sugary-sweet root beers (Dad’s) versus the more “serious” root beers (IBC). In the end, I think I prefer Mug for a balance of serious and sweet.

So the years ticked by, and our tradition of naming summers continued. “Lazy Summer” had a lot of lying around and “The Summer of Fun” was excruciatingly enjoyable. We had a rule that you had to do at least one fun thing every day. If you couldn’t fit in a waterslide or a trip to Lagoon (what “fun” IS), you had to settle for a bike ride; but you know, “FUN”. “The Summer of AWESOME”, was, well...mostly awesome, partially because we made yellow T-shirts with “The Summer of AWESOME” written across the chest. But we also because we wrote down 25 awesome things that you had to do before the summer was over: Ask out a female lead singer of a band that’s passing through town--check. Kiss a girl during a fireworks show--double check. Pool Hop 25 pools in one night--half check (I only made it to 18). Make and wear accurate Star Wars Wookie costume--nope. No check. Still pretty awesome though.

These summers were quality there was nothing like them in the world. By the time the novelty of summer heat wore off, I was exhausted as much from the fun as I was from the heat. I almost didn’t mind that there was still something missing, and I didn’t even know what her name was.

One summer, I tried to attack head on what I thought I was lacking. My brothers and I huddled up. Thus, “The Summer of Love” was born. Now, this is a summer of magnificent splendor, A summer of focus, and a summer bursting with probabilities. You name a summer “The Summer of Love,” and you know the universe will reward you.
Except, the universe doesn’t really care what you want. It’s not a big genie to grant all your secret wishes, and the fastest way to scare a lady friend away is to tell her that this year you’re looking for love. I think this is best demonstrated with the following heartbreak:

So this girl--greatest girl of all girls--that I was best friends with, had finally broken up with her dirt-bag boyfriend. His major flaw? He wasn’t me. She saw me in the category as “just friends.” Since the breakup, we spent a lot of time together, and in my mind, things were nudging toward romance. This girl even decided to come down to Lake Powell with me. Not with a group of friends just with my family and me. That trip was magic.

We told stories of the mythical Powell Beast. We created a really good fake tap dance show. We slow danced under a midnight canopy of stars while my brother shot off illegal fireworks. I remember telling myself, “This is the summer of love.”

Then...

Then, late at night, I told her how I felt about how much she was everything I was looking for and that I was even in love with her flaws. She pulled her hand away from mine...and wanted a few days to think about it. A few days! You don’t come to a conclusion on love in a few days. It’s something you either know or you don’t. Eventually, my girl said she really valued our friendship and that she wanted to remain best friends.

I never heard from her again. About two months later, a friend of a friend informed me that she was engaged (did that guy even bother to make T-shirts?). That summer lead to the first named winter--“The Winter of Vengeance.” Now, that was a winter worth remembering.

Despite the heartbreak from “The Summer of Love,” I still love my themed summers because a summer has got to have a name. This summer it’s “Frozen Custard Summer.” A summer spent with a tall cup of frozen custard? Now that sounds like a summer I can love.