The sprinkler is on, and the sun is at full tilt in the sky. My sister and I take turns dashing through the water, screaming in joy as we do. Then we hear a distant ringing sound and yell, “The ice cream truck!” We rush into the house and announce the news to our mother, who rifles through her purse and hands us the necessary change. We go running down the street, getting there just in time to purchase Dreamsicles, composed of vanilla ice-cream covered with orange sherbet. We eat them in a hurry before they melt.  

Back at home, it’s time for lunch. We decide that today we are cowboys eating on the open range as we chase the bad guys. Our mother obliges us by making sandwiches and adding a can of beans, because that’s what cowboys eat in movies. It is sweltering outside, but after we have eaten our lunch by our imaginary fire, we transform ourselves into horses and go galloping across the yard. We make a pretty decent whinnying sound.  

Illustration by Jef Murray

It is summer in Miami, and we are so free. There are no kids to make fun of me because I’m fat. There is no homework. We can read whatever we want and spend as many hours outdoors as we like. On some days we head to the neighborhood pool and become dolphins, dipping beneath the aqua water and grinning at each other. We try to talk underwater, yelling as loudly as we can.  

We are not a family that says prayers together. Religion is something reserved for Sundays, although we do hurry through grace before meals. At night, before falling asleep, I say a few words to God, nearly always asking him for a kitten or puppy. My mother is dead set against furry animals because the outdoors is thick with fleas and ticks, which she does not want inside. Then one day the cat next door, whose name is Dolores, gives birth to a sweet little kitten. And I have the utterly ecstatic experience of getting to visit the twosome and play with them.  

On Saturdays we usually went to the beach. My mom packed chilled lemonade in a big thermos, plus ham and cheese sandwiches and her amazing coffee cake that was laden with a cinnamon and brown-sugar topping. I would lie face down on the blanket and listen to the distant waves and the little snippets of conversation from my parents. Sometimes a seabird landed nearby and watched me. I would doze and feel the sun turning my face red. We didn’t have suntan lotion, so we simply applied a cooling cream to our burns later. Of course my sister and I built elaborate sandcastles complete with a moat and a flock of alligators.  

Every day was precious. Each day was a gift. I didn’t realize it then, but the memories would remain in my heart for decades and make summer a magical time. Summer will always mean beaches and coffee cake and running through sprinklers. It will always mean letting the imagination run rampant.  

Summer reveals the deep truth that anything is possible. In the land of memories children always run free and may turn into horses at a moment’s notice. If I close my eyes, I can hear the distant ringing of the ice cream truck and the squeaking of the kitten. I hear waves frothing on the shore and my parents, long gone, talking and laughing together. I did not realize it then, but during summer everything was a prayer.