MOST MEMORABLE SUMMER

As the summer comes to a close, my mind drifted back to summers past and landed on one in particular – 1964, my summer of “coming of age”. The summer I gained sexual awareness and lost my appendix.

It all happened at Crystal Lake in New Hampshire. The family was staying at Nana and Grampa Bacon’s little cabin just the other side of Mt Belknap from their house. The family quickly became irrelevant, as our group of six 13 and 14 year olds gravitated into a tight pack. It was the first time I felt belonging to a group that was not church or sport or school related.

There was Jackie, our charismatic leader, who was constantly flipping a shock of blonde hair out of his face and Wayne, a chunky lad who was somehow related to Notre Dame coach Ara Parseghian and me. And (most importantly) the three girls, which of course, led to three pairings. Jackie’s girl chewed gum and wore “Daisy Dukes” years before Daisy was invented, which earned her the “cheap” label from my Mom.

And then there was Donna from Concord, NH (aka Dawnah from Cawncud). She was (coincidentally?) the daughter of one of my Mom’s former boyfriends and the target of my crush and adoration for two long, wonderful summer months. Whenever I was around her, or even thought about her, my brain and body felt odd sensations they had never known before.

There was no sex or drinking or smoking, just a swirl of teenage hormones at every turn – at the way her pony-tail swished back and forth, at the sound of her whisper, at the way her shoulder brushed up against mine, the way my arm smelled when I woke up in the morning, even the way she said “grindah and pawp” instead of sub and soda. Those precious first sexual feelings are deeply imbedded and treasured in my memory.

If the weather was good, we water-skied all day long, stopping only for food and gas breaks. If it rained, we took shelter in Wayne’s boathouse and played cards or Monopoly. Either way, at night, we convened at Jackie’s house, since his single Mom worked as a waitress at night. Charades and kissing contests were prominent. When we could get someone to drive us, we went to the arcades at Alton Bay. At regular intervals, the sexes would segregate for the vital purpose of comparing notes and activities. None of us knew what we were doing or how to do it, but the process of discovery was delicious, as it is with all of life.

About a week before our scheduled departure, I got sick – an activity that was scorned in our family. Trips to a doctor or ER were simply not part of the program. But when my flu-like malaise turned to hard gut-cramping pain. I grabbed my Dad’s shirt and demanded medical attention, then threw up on his pants. This earned me a high speed trip to the area hospital, feeling every bump on the dirt roads.

The diagnosis was acute appendicitis and surgery soon followed. I was given a spinal block which left me quite conscious. And curious. I kept lifting my head up to watch the surgery until they put a drape in my way, at which point I drifted off. When I awoke, I noticed that I couldn’t feel my feet. Even worse, I couldn’t move them. A sedative and reassurance from a nurse got me through.

I awoke the next morning to a familiar voice – Jackie was in the bed next to me. And Wayne was in the next room. We never did figure out how all three of us – and none of the girls – had gotten infected appendixes and had them removed the same night.

So, the grand summer ended with kind of a whimper. Further real sexual explorations were soon to follow with my first girlfriend, Charlotte. But the extraordinarily powerful awakenings of that summer fling were never quite repeated. I wonder if Donna, wherever she is, feels the same way.