Let’s trim the calendar to just three seasons

I was never a big fan of school, so my entire school year was a 180-day countdown to summer.

Sure, I liked Thanksgiving break, Christmas holidays and the 1-inch-of-snow shutdown, but summer meant no school for more than two months. That’s an eternity to a kid.

When I was a kid, I absolutely loved summer. It didn’t hurt that my next-door-neighbors had a pool in which I was welcome to jump anytime I wanted — which was just about every day of summer.

I rode my bike all around Oglethorpe, Georgia. I spent hours playing in Town Creek, which in hindsight was probably more of a poisonous sewage ditch and why I wasn’t allowed to play in it. I honed my storytelling skills by finding new ways to explain the mud on my shoes every day.

During summer we had all day to play basketball, football and baseball — unlike during the school year when we had to squeeze in games sometime between the final school bell and sunset.

To this kid, summer was everything. The other seasons had their moments — the county fair in fall, Christmas in winter and tennis season in the spring. But summer was the king of all seasons.

Even into my adulthood, I considered summer to be my favorite season. It’s when I’d go to the beach. It’s when I could wear shorts and show off my pretty legs. It’s when I could enjoy a cold one on the back porch while watching the Braves play.

Now, though, I’m done with summer. I don’t know if it’s because that Chinese climate change hoax has gotten out of hand, but the last few summers have been brutally hot. The average temperature in my backyard this summer has been roughly 147 degrees. I don’t remember melting as a child, but it seems to be happening now. Worse, my neighbors now don’t have pools, and I’d have to climb over their fences to jump in even if they did have pools.

There’s really no good way to deal with this kind of heat other than going down to the Quickie Mart and sitting in their “Beer Cave” for a few hours. I’m OK with that, but I do get tired of the workers asking me if I’m going to buy anything.

“I’m still looking.”

“Well, we have beer and beer.”

“Hmm, this is gonna be more complicated than I thought. See ya in an hour or two.”

At least this summer had the promise of killing the coronavirus. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “They say it’s gonna go away with the heat,” I’d have at least $7.45. Not only did the virus not go away, but it got worse, and it’s about to get way worse. And I didn’t get a single nickel — probably due to the coin shortage.

I could move north. I used to think anything above LaGrange was “up north,” but it looks like I’ll have to go all the way to Canada to get away from the heat. Then again, Canada is not too keen on allowing Americans in right now, and I can’t say that I blame them. I could go to a northern state, but places like Vermont probably don’t even have barbecue. They just sit around eating maple syrup and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

An easier solution would be to have the U.S. government eliminate summer and go to a three-season calendar. We could go straight from four months of spring to four months of fall. My birthday is on the last day of spring anyway, so there’s really nothing to look forward to through the ensuing summer. And just imagine the savings on air-conditioning bills.

This summer — this pandemic-infested, record-hurricaning, murder-hornetized summer — is time to end this season once and for all. If we can ban Tik Tok, we can get rid of summer. See y’all in the fall!

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