Sorry August. Sorry September. Neither of you mean enough to me to write about each of you individually. Hey August, at least September gave us Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” and Neil Diamond’s “September Morn.” I realize you did give both my lovely wife and my precious son to me many years ago, in which I’m forever grateful, but what have you done for me lately? No offense to anyone who cherishes those two months, for whatever reasons. And I don’t haphazardly mean no offense, like in the “you look and smell as though you haven’t showered in quite some time – no offense” sort of way. I genuinely mean the sentiment because I’m well aware many stupendous events happen to people all year round.

And August and September are no exceptions. I just tend to view those two months as only one entity. I think it’s most-likely because school is always back in session, depending on where one resides, in either August or September. Therefore, in my mind I’ve boiled down those two months into a singular meaning: The summer is over and it’s time for lock-up once again. I know technically summer does not end until on or around September 21st, but it certainly feels like summer is over once the kiddos are headed back to school.

I can recall when I was a child and being able to sense when re-entering the prison system was right around the corner. As a youngster, I paid no attention to the calendar hanging on the wall. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know how to interpret a calendar way back when. But I didn’t need to see the numerous Back To School commercials on TV, or anyone telling me my time was almost up, either. I had a different surefire way of knowing when the carefree life I had been living was now doomed.

Aurora Heights Elementary School was just up the street from my house, so I had many opportunities to pass by the brick laden prison during my summer vacation. But once the aromas of bleach, fresh paint, and newly laid carpet began wafting from the intimidating structure and into my young nostrils, I knew what little freedom I had as a young boy was ever so close to being exchanged for another year of structured confinement. Obviously, my use of hyperbole regarding school is mostly for effect. Having to go to school all those years really wasn’t that bad. Or was it? So, this is what August and September mean to me. What does August and September mean to you?