Summer Childhood Memories.

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I grew up in Louisiana. I remember how hot the days were in the summertime. The cracks in the blacktop road were filled with tar that would bubble up in the heat. We would pop the bubbles with our bare toes, our feet were tough as shoe leather, calloused from walking on the scorching pavement. The subdivision we lived in was on drained swampland, and if you dug down a foot or so, your hole would fill with water. There was a ditch behind our house, my brothers and I would go out there and fish for crawdads by baiting a string with a bit of meat. When you caught one, you could pick him up by his back and be perfectly safe. He’d arch his claws up over his head to try to pinch you, but he could not reach. We would always let them go afterward, we didn’t eat them or anything. The summers seemed so long then, once school was out we felt like we’d never have to go back. By the time school started again in the Fall, we were excited to get back to it.