Labor Day reminds of unwelcome changes
Growing up, Labor Day was always my least favorite holiday of the year.
And, despite major changes in my life since the carefree days of childhood, not much has changed with regard to the first Monday of September.
Back then, the depression associated with this holiday was mostly due to the fact that school resumed – usually on the day after Labor Day.
Not even a new Lone Ranger lunch box – bright colored metal casing, with clip-in thermos – could cheer me up. Nor could the dark green, U.S. militarystyle canvas book bag from the Army-Navy store.
It all began with the fact that we couldn’t even enjoy the entire final weekend at the Jersey Shore – because “we had to come home early to get ready for school.” How much “readying” was needed? Sharpen a few No. 2 pencils and put them in the pencil box … get the school uniform out of the closet … wash behind your ears.
Then there was the stark change in daily activities. Wasn’t anybody worried about shocking the young snowflakes back then?
Long days of playing wiffle ball in the back yard were replaced by endlessly working on our penmanship. Instead of learning how to hit the ball to the opposite field, we had to work on those countless up-anddown strokes with the pen … or the continuous string of circles. All of this to develop a perfect cursive writing style.
Instead of a baseball coach teaching fundamentals, penmanship was taught under the watchful eye (and wooden pointer) of Mother Margaret Isabelle.
Clapping to the great “Songs of Summer” by the Beach Boys and Four Seasons, was replaced by clapping erasers in order to remove the chalk dust.
PF Flyer sneakers were traded in for new school shoes … that hurt your feet and made it impossible to run in the playground during recess (which was usually forbidden).
Lounging on the lawn and learning to make passing gas noises with your armpit was replaced by sitting erect, with hands folded, in wooden desks that now would qualify as devices of child abuse.
T-shirt and “dungarees” were replaced by blazer, grey slacks, white shirt and clip-on tie.
The days got shorter, which meant less and less play outside after dinner. The swimming pools closed. The Mr. Softee truck stopped passing through the neighborhood.
Worst of all, the baseball season entered the stretch run and,
for diehard Phillies fans, chances of a pennant were nowhere in sight. Notice, some things never change.
Jump forward a few decades … OK, many
decades … and it becomes evident there is no discernible decrease in the amount of depression brought about by Labor Day weekend.
The hot dogs and hamburgers on the grille don’t taste as good as they did during 4th of July weekend. The kernels on
the corn are getting larger and not quite as sweet, or tender. The fresh, local strawberries are a distant memory.
The unseasonal chilly nighttime weather over the past weekend are a reminder that another cold, dismal winter is just around the corner.
No, Labor Day is not my favorite holiday.
It probably ranks slightly above Ground Hog Day or Arbor Day … but not by much.
At least, for most, it is a day off from work. But, someday, most of those people will be retired. Then, Labor Day
will lose its last shred of redeeming value.
Maybe I can shed this cloud of dismay by trading in my old, beat-up Lone Ranger lunch box for a shiny new Zorro model. Does anyone know where they are still sold?