When I was a kid, I used to smell cut grass in the summertime.  The taste of it filled the air of Southern suburbs where charcoal grills blazed into evening.

A radio played the sounds of the season out in the garage where dad parked his ’78 Chevrolet Cowboys Classic station wagon. He was so proud. A car with the colors of the Dallas Cowboys uniforms; blue and silver with white doors. It was hideous. But he washed it once a week, changed the oil every three thousand miles, and made the tires shine like new. He loved three things: God, family, and the Cowboys. He tried to pass those values down to me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to smell cut grass and drink Pepsi. The love of soda, I did get that from the old man. Dad would go through a six-pack a day. Some fathers drink alcohol. Dad drank sugar and caffeine. That’s what the radio in the garage told us to do; Join the Pepsi people. Feeling free. Feeling free. All across the nation. It’s a Pepsi generation. Here today. Here to stay. Feeling free. We did as we were told.

Summers in the South. Hot, humid, sticky summers in the South. Even the nighttime was hot. Windows open, and a warm breeze blew throughout the house.  Who needs air-conditioning, my dad said. This climate is good for you, he told me. It’ll make a man out of you. Teach you to endure, he’d laugh. Eventually, he went high-tech and bought fans for the bedrooms. He had this crazy idea about placing ice bags in front of the fans to cool us off. It was then that I realized my father was insane. I would wind up putting the ice on my forehead and waking up to a wet pillow. Fond memories. 

But, it was the cut grass that saved my soul. I could always count on that smell. You remember bits of childhood, and as one gets older, there are memories you want to forget. It is the beginning of spring. Soon, I will be a child again.