Yesterday evening, as I was heading for bed, our 16 year old son, Taylor, looked up from his computer, guitar, cell-phone, snack and book--he was multi-multi-multi-multi-multi-tasking--and said "Going to bed, already? Oh, that's right. Summer isn't universal." He's got that right. As of mid-day Wednesday, all of our kids were done with school for the year which means, for them, summer is here. Forget what the calendar says about June 21. Forget that weather dorks consider June, July & August as meteorological summer. When school is out, summer is in. I could feel the sense of liberation and freedom emanating from the children yesterday. It was annoying.

Frankly, I think the last day of school was better when I was a kid and I say that not just because I'm bitter that they get the summer off and I don't. For a big chunk of the last month of the school year, my kids had picnics, field trips, game days, awards ceremonies, special assemblies, year-book signing days, and other events. For me, we had regular school stuff right up to the last day. I remember having spelling tests ON the last day. And, they counted! So, when we were released it really felt like Escape From Alcatraz.

Another thing that made the last day special, when I was a kid, was the fact that we were allowed to wear shorts to school. Today, many schools let the students wear shorts most any day, but at Grand Avenue Elementary, shorts were reserved for the last day. Of course, being Wisconsin, there was still a chance for snow on that last day, but no kid wanted to give up the chance to wear shorts to school. It was sartorially subversive! All those skinny, pasty little legs scampering into school looked like a foot race for uncooked pasta.

After our class work was done, we'd gather up all our supplies and cram them into our book bags. We didn't have back-packs. Those were strictly for folks who went camping or GI Joe. We had plaid book bags with straps and buckles. The rich kids' were made of cloth but most of us had the plastic. Rich or not-so-rich, all the kids in my class had worms. Reading Worms with a colored dot representing each book read in the year. The longer the worm, the better. We'd take those off the wall as well as any other work that was displayed. We'd take home what was left of our supplies. Even the smallest nub of a pencil got shoved into the bag. There was usually a competition to see who would take home the class creature to care for during the summer. Some had guinea pigs, some had rabbits. I never took the class critter. First of all, the rabbits always tried to bite me and the guinea pigs looked like rats with bad haircuts. Anyway, our little book bags would be bulging with crayons, Styrofoam balls that had, for a brief shining moment, been planets of our solar system, lots of papers, bread crusts, M&M wrappers, erasers and paste. Speaking of erasers and paste, we had one kid in my class that never had any erasers or paste left because he would eat them. I don't know whatever happened to him. He's probably the creator of Fear Factor or a consultant to The Food Network.

The best part of the last day of school, way back yonder in those ancient days, had to do with water! Just about every student...except the ones who wanted to take home the class creature and would have to spend their last day being especially well-behaved...came to school ready for combat. Waterworld style. In today's society, sadly, but for very good reasons, such behavior is totally unacceptable and would be stopped at the door, perhaps resulting in suspensions and news stories. But, my elementary days were different. Sure, there was always that atom bomb deal, but violence in the hallways was not a daily worry. So, we'd come to school with balloons waiting to be turned into watery projectiles and squirt guns filled to the brim. This was NOT sanctioned behavior but most teachers knew, as they stood in front of the class, that almost every kid sitting there was bursting with Rambo-like intensity. Planning out in their heads who they would soak first and how they would get away in one dry piece. Of course, nobody really wanted to go home dry. The fun was in getting drenched as much as in the drenching of others. A drippy twist on the golden rule.

So, you'd sit there at your desk, making sure you had all the balloons in your pocket...checking on the water level in the squirt gun...wishing you had brought that empty Palmolive bottle as a mini-bazooka like the kid next to you had done...just waiting for the bell to ring. The really wild kids started their assaults on the way out the door but most of us waited until we were outside. We were a very well-trained unruly mob. Once outdoors, anything was possible. The bigger kids always commandeered the faucet on the outside of the school building for the filling of balloons and re-filling of the squirt guns so us younger kids had to make our first efforts count. Every year someone would dare someone else to throw a balloon at the principal, Mrs. Van Loenen. Every year no one could bring themselves to do it. She was a tall, stately woman with an upturned hairdo and glasses, apparently encrusted with what looked to us like precious gems, hanging from what had to be a solid gold chain. She spoke in measured and mellow sentences and just seemed too proper a person to endure the indignity of a water balloon. Also, all of us had heard that hitting the principal with a water balloon carried a life sentence in grade school, mention in the local paper and public upbraiding by the priest or pastor at Sunday's services. Her husband owned the only men's clothing store in town, too, and that meant maybe your dad wouldn't be able to buy new boxers and neck-ties if word got around that you had beaned her. Since the principal was off limits, a few kids thought they'd try for the secretary, Mrs. Nagler. But, the problem there was that Mrs. Nagler, a small, wiry woman well into her 60s, would have been able to catch any kid on the playground without breaking a sweat. So, we just focused on each other. We all made it home soggy but smiling.

I guess I really shouldn't hold it against my kids that they have a stretch of relatively responsibility-free days ahead of them. After all, another bonus back in my day, was that our summer break used to start with the Friday before Memorial Day and run right up to Labor Day...pretty much three full months. Now, our kids end up with closer to two months. In fact, I think back to school sales start in about a week!

All this talk about the last day of school gave me a great idea: Tomorrow morning when I get home from work and the big boys are still in bed maybe I'll wake them up with a good old-fashioned Grand Avenue Elementary water balloon. They'd love that...right?