Sitting on the curb in front of 110 Flamingo Street, I smiled. It had been a good summer. No, the best summer ever.
Water was still dripping off my head, streaming down my face to its final destination: an ever expanding puddle around two bare feet, one of which was sporting a newly stubbed big toe. We had just finished the last water balloon battle of the summer.
It was glorious.
For over an hour, the kids from Flamingo Street battled the kids from the Duke of Gloucester. With our supplies of balloons finally exhausted, the battle ended with both teams claiming victory. After all, with water balloons bursting on kids during the hot August afternoon, everyone had ended up being winners.
In the heat of battle, both teams joined together to defend Flamingo Street against a sneak attack from Down the Street Bully Brad and his gang. But he wasn’t too upset as he got pummeled. Guess even bullies get hot during the summer, and what better way to cool off then getting bombarded by water balloons?
On my right, Bubba Hanks lay next to me. Soaked, his white T-shirt clung to his massive frame. After loosening the shoulder straps to his overalls then tying them around his waist in order to cool off, he now was lying back on the green fescue grass, freshly cut by my three brothers and me the day before. My brothers occupied spaces to the right of Bubba. They continued arguing about who had avoided, and who had gotten, the most hits to the head.
On my left sat Neighbor Thomas, Goofy Steve, and Booger. Booger was busy doing what had gotten him his namesake in the first grade, but he was still a good kid nonetheless. Goofy was wearing the blowup float ring around his waist. With strawberry red hair, a face full of freckles, long skinny arms and legs to match, and now the addition of the pink float ring, Goofy was looking goofier than normal. And that’s saying a lot for anyone who knew the goofiest kid who ever lived on Flamingo Street.
The kids from the Duke all sat on the curb directly across from us. They were still arguing amongst themselves as who should be the next captain when Thomas suddenly stood, lobbing the water balloon he’d been saving! With a splat heard around the world, the balloon hit its mark – Preston Weston III.
The Duke of Gloucester was where all the rich kids lived, and Preston’s family was by far the richest. He was also captain of their street football and water balloon teams.
Along with cheers and laughter from all, the final water balloon of the summer brought with it a promise. The battle wasn’t over. It was just postponed until the first day of summer next year: a long nine months away. We first all had to survive school and our new teacher, Old Mrs. Crabtree.
Ringing the cowbell on our back porch, Mom signaled us to come in. The sound was easily heard up and down Flamingo Street and signaled an end to the last day of summer. All us kids got up and started walking our separate ways, back to our homes and families. It was the end of the first summer we spent on Flamingo Street.
Fifty years have passed since then, and now my son, The Boy, has children of his own. Little One and Sweet Caroline are ages 2 and 1. They’re a little too young for water balloon battles.
So to celebrate the last day of summer this year, Big Papa here hooked up a water-spraying giant snake. The Wife and I watched as they ran around screaming with joy while being soaked with water and cooling off in the hot August sun — just like we did at the end of that first summer on Flamingo Street so many years ago.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
