Summer Streets, Summer Cars, 1965

I really love, and miss those summer evenings, and guys with their cars. Hoods were up and engines running; car radios played, and guys stood around swapping automobile war stories. Those summer afternoons when there was still plenty of daylight left felt so right. The sun changed its position just enough to mark the beginnings of a perfect evening. Those were marvelous times; I smelled grease rags and engine oil. My oldest brother and his car was no different; I remember his pack of Marlboros with a book of matches neatly tucked into the cellophane resting on the fender.

There were Coke, or Pepsi bottles on porches or walkways with scruffy grass growing up in the concrete cracks. In the heat of summer he mostly wore T Shirts and revved his car engine a few times checking the vehicle's pulse and vitals. The music that played on car radios was vivid and full of life, and connected me to a world that I truly understood without question. '60s music was my blood type; lush harmonies, strumming guitars, and Vox keyboards all comprised my personal DNA. On those hot city streets we rode our bikes on the asphalt, played with Hula-Hoops, or jumped over oscillating lawn sprinklers while the guys showed off their cars. The summer season of television wasn't that great, and summer series replacements weren't enough incentive to keep me inside watching the set.

Life, for the most part, was smooth sailing. Recent sunburns turned into beautiful tans. Scrapes, bug bites, bee stings and stubbed toes were just a part of living outdoors wearing as few clothes as possible. I miss the old neighborhood, those guys with their cars, and my friends. I miss the adventures of backyard forts and berry patch explorations. There was something so incredible about those days as we lived in a world that was just too beautiful for words.