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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Photo by Joanna Gazzaneo What I Did Last Summer I remember growing up in Chicago and returning to Minnie Mars Jamieson elementary school after the long summer break. The first assignment was to write an essay about what I did last summer. In this issue, John Offerdahl reminisces and retells the story about his childhood in Wisconsin and how barbecuing was always a special part of his summers. Like John, we all have memories of childhood summers. Back then, summer was magical; no school for 10 whole weeks, warm weather, baseball, fireworks, swimming, and hanging out with friends and family. I can recall many memorable summers. I attended summer camp (I hated it). We had great 4 th of July celebrations. We attended summer concerts, and spent time at the beaches and pools. Swimming was a whole different game in Chicago. The water temperature rarely rose above 70 degrees. You would come out of the water teeth chattering and lips blue. Lake Michigan also had these fish (alewives) that would wash ashore and die on the beach and make the experience much more inviting. I also remember the summers I worked. My first experience was working for my dad. He was anxious for me to learn responsibility. So, at the age of 11 or maybe 12, he got me a job in a warehouse at the company where he worked. We would drive to work together each morning -- me half asleep. We would arrive. My dad would go to his air-conditioned office and I would be relegated to the warehouse, where temperatures could easily exceed 90 degrees. My job was to take tiny nuts and bolts from huge barrels, 8 Cravings | June / July 2010 dump them on a table, count out a hundred and weigh them on a scale. Then I would take tiny boxes and fill them up one at a time with the correctly counted hardware. When I completed twelve boxes, I would put them into a bigger box and when I completed filling twelve boxes in the larger box, I would then put those boxes in a larger carton, seal it and start all over again. I would do this for eight hours a day with a morning break, an afternoon break and a half hour for lunch. I didn't last long, maybe two or three weeks, before I quit. I do not recall if this experience served as the subject of one of my school essays. One of my earliest summer memories was when I was seven or eight years old; it was my first time on an airplane and we were flying to New York. This was a shiny new Boeing 727 jet airplane, not one of those prop jobs. Back then, flying was considered to be a big deal. My little brother and I thought it was great. They gave us pilot wings and decks of cards and coloring books. Also, you could have as many soda pops as you could handle (7-Up was my favorite). They served a meal on every flight, with snacks before and after. Literally and figuratively, we were in heaven. First trips to New York have been chronicled by greater writers than I, so I will not bore you with the details. Of course, we took the Staten Island Ferry and we climbed the stairs to the top of the Statue of Liberty. We saw Times Square and surely visited a museum or two. What I remember most about that summer was spending time with my cousins in Connecticut. Connecticut was everything Chicago wasn’t. My cousins lived in what Connecticut calls the suburbs – the country. My older cousin Marty was left in charge of my brother and me. Marty was perhaps ten years old and knew more ways to cause trouble than anyone. On the first day, he introduced me to his snapping turtle. I got bit. He showed me his go-cart. We crashed. He introduced me to his source of illegal fireworks and exposed me to more mayhem then you would have thought possible. The 4 th of July was the culmination of everything. Our parents left Marty’s older brother Matt and older sister Sari in charge. The parents went to a party and we were left to entertain ourselves. We stuffed ourselves with a feast of pizza, soda, and cake while anxiously waiting for the fireworks. We had a stash of firecrackers and bottle rockets from Marty's illegal source and were anxious to detonate our contraband. We perched ourselves on an upstairs patio and watched as the rest of town lit off its fireworks. We proceeded to set off ours. Sari brought out one of her paper Chinese lanterns with a candle which she lit to add to the festivities. I know you are thinking, this is the part where we blew up the house. (No, that came later.). We actually exhausted our horde of fireworks without incident. It was later, when we ran out of ammunition that things got out of hand. Having set off everything that could explode, we became bored. We began roughhousing. Marty knocked over the Chinese lantern and we watched as it caught fire and fell to the yard below. We watched the flames flicker and stood frozen. Everyone started blaming each other as the fire continued to burn and spread. One of my older cousins had presence of mind to run downstairs and attack the flames with a garden hose and quickly extinguish the fire. When the adults returned home, there was plenty of finger pointing, but no serious consequences. We should have learned our lesson. But at this age our capacity for troublemaking far exceeded our fear of punishment. The following morning Marty led us on an expedition to collect duds (unexploded firecrackers.) After collecting a hundred, we headed for the garage and unrolled them to remove the unexploded gunpowder. Before long we filled a bell jar and had enough gunpowder to blow up a small village. I honestly cannot tell you what happened next. The holiday ended and we boarded our TWA flight for home. I do know that Marty and his brother and sister survived whatever may have ensued after our departure. Marty and my brother are still best friends. As I look back at these adventurous summers, I begin to look forward to this summer and all the adventure it may bring. andrew Stern Editor-in-Chief If you have a summer experIence, you would lIke to share, emaIl info@cravingssouthflorida.com or post It on our blog cravingssouthflorida.com
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