“One summer night, we fell in love. One summer night, I held you tight. You and I under the moon of love.” — “One Summer Night” song lyrics by Danny Webb, recorded by the Danleers, June 1958
“What’s this you speak of … this summer romance thing,” a reader responded to a passing reference in last week’s column.
I get comments on my column just about every week. Some with condolences. Some inquisitive. Even a few that are complimentary. But this one would be hard to handle, and I knew it before I opened my big mouth.
For two reasons. One, I’m the least qualified to comment, qualify, or quantify on all things romantic. In any season. Check my references.
And two, anyone who has to ask about the virtues of summer romance just may be less qualified than me.
Noting both points, I ignored my better judgment and jumped right
in any way. Romance comes in all shapes, sizes, packaging, and with a myriad of marketing campaigns, I explained. Poems, novels, magazines, songs, drug store paperbacks, and notes filled with romantic expressions of love, once exchanged in afternoon high school English classes.
When hearts were young and first introduced to intellectual romantic literature.
Like Shakespeare and Mad magazine.
Through it all, I’m convinced however, that while memories fade with time, it’s those long-ago summer romances that are seldom ever forgotten.
“Wow, is that the voice of experience,” my questioner drawled. “Maybe, dear reader,” I responded.
“Many high school sweethearts confess their marriage of half a century or more all started with love at first sight. Others say it took a little longer for the love light to shine.
But everyone’s love storybook reads a little bit differently. It all comes down to remembering one thing.
Still ignoring better judgment, I just kept talking. “First time smitten for me actually started in the spring before school was out.
The band banquet.
Youth Center parties.
Watching Batman on television together.
Her family moved after graduation, and for me it was working in the East Texas peach orchards. Harvesting money for college in the fall. I traveled to see her once that summer and again during the fall. But it was two lives, two worlds, and too much geography in between at that age.”
Such a touching example would have sufficed, but no. I kept digging myself in deeper. Sharing that time a couple of summers later. While toiling in the Talco oil fields for another year’s funding for books and tuition.
She was a recent high school graduate. There were summer night movies at the Martin Theater. Cruising Mount Pleasant streets to see who else was out, cruising the streets after the movie.
It’s what we did then.
Back when cars were fast and cool and music spoke to hearts of summer romances.
But it was another September casualty. I went back to school, and she went with a job that took her to another city. A really long way off. I made one really long trip to see her. But once again, two lives, two dreams, and a really lot more geography between.
“So, what was that one thing you mentioned to remember,” my reader asked.
“In a minute. I’m not through. The third time can be the charm.
Sometimes.”
By this time, I felt like I had learned two things. I would need more than one summer job to keep me in college, in summer romances, and in my first love: fast, loud, high-powered cars that won races on Saturday night. That’s why, for a young heart, that third summer romance was a match made in hot rod heaven. She went racing with me.
However, that summer ended with a fork in the road as well. It wasn’t two lives this time. It wasn’t even two worlds. But for reasons I long wondered about when I thought about her, it was over.
“Life with its seasons can be profound and perplexing at the same time,” I tried to wrap up. I was in this discussion way over my head and outside my skill levels. I needed an exit ramp. There may be no seasons for love, but there is a time to talk and a time to hush. I was grasping for the latter.
“Sometimes we never look back,” I tried to sound wise and all knowing. “And other times we remember and wonder ‘what if?’ Such is the nature of summer romance,” I stopped. Then added, “And that’s all I have to say about that.”
“Wait,” he said. “You haven’t told me the one thing to remember.”
“Two things actually. One, true love knows no seasons, only happiness. Two, just be careful — the brain is fickle. It works 24/7/365 until you discover the magic of one summer night … under the moon of love.
“Oh, and one thing more. Always avoid personal advice columns when you are not qualified to write them.”
A STORY
WORTH TELLING
