When humidity levels can be mistaken for temperatures and temperatures are read with three digits, I know summer has arrived. Summer is a time for bad tan lines and sunburns, frizzy hair and freckles. Summer is a time of no shoes and walks in the grass in bare feet. Summer is unquestionably my favorite time of the year.

In my dictionary, summer has a lot of meanings. Summer means sunsets and super soakers; beaches and boardwalks; Kool-Aid and crabs; grassy lawns and ghost stories; temporary tattoos and tank tops; push-up popsicles and pool parties; sandals and seagulls.

Every year, as school comes to an end and temperatures rise thanks to something other than global warming, a sense of childhood nostalgia washes over me like the pool water in which I take refuge. Summer evokes memories of being an elementary schoolgirl with no obligations or responsibilities, generating a sense of freedom that fall, winter, and spring breaks combined could not replicate.

While I'm not about to grab my Play-Doh and play hopscotch, I do relish in my ability to be however old, or young, I want to be from June to August.

For as long as I can remember, the warmest season has meant some of the same things for me, and I cling to these annual traditions as sources of comfort. The lines outside Soft Stuff that spill onto the streets early in the morning until late at night; the time spent with family and friends at the beach, returning with more sand in my bag than the beach seemed to hold; the multicolored fireworks and sparklers that illuminate the otherwise pitch black summer sky on the Fourth of July; days and evenings facing with great anticipation approaching dread the "Ring of Fire" at the Howard County Fair -- these simple things tell me that it's okay to be a kid again, doing the same things I have done every summer.

In fact, one of my favorite things about summer is that simplicity reigns supreme. For three months, I'll stay up late for reasons other than homework and tests; I'll read books for myself, not to fulfill requirements at my school; I'll dance to the music that is playing outside, everywhere. Because during the summer, time slows down and there is no need to place a limit or schedule on my activities; rather, time seems suspended, because there's nowhere else to be.

Summer, in my opinion, is the embodiment of the American spirit. Everyone is outside, appreciating the natural American beauty. In "Stand by Me"-reminiscent style, children concoct epic adventures in an attempt to fulfill long harbored dreams. However, in the summer, adults can feel free to be children, too. Road and camping trips cover summertime calendars, while impromptu pick-up games and cookouts fill the days and evenings.

Always capable of bringing back the memories of summers long-gone, the smells and sounds of summer are hard to miss. Salty spray from the ocean reminds me of the warm wooden boardwalk with the loudly beeping arcades, the crowded beaches, and, of course, the Tilt-a-Whirl, which as a child I would always be proud to claim that I had ridden at least once that day. Sunblock, one of the most distinctive scents of summer, harkens back to the long days spent at the beach, building colossal sand castles and riding waves, staving off the blistering heat with the frigid ocean waters.

The artificially sweet smell of snow cones brings memories of dragging my Mom or Grandma to the snow cone stand, smiling between blue stained teeth at friends while cooling off with skylight flavored ice.

In all my years of ordering the same snow cone, I never figured out exactly what skylight was. And what kind of Marylander would I be if the spicy odor of Old Bay did not recall fond memories of picking crabs at a wooden picnic table, my hands and face covered in spice and crab meat?

So as I set my sights on sandcastles and Slip 'n Slides, I hope you remember to answer the phone, because this season, childhood is calling.

Samantha Kelly is a rising senior at Glenelg Country School. You can e-mail her at cdumler@theviewnewspapers.com.

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