August Disgust

I came across this today, and I have to say that I'm not entirely opposed to an August succession from the calendar. August just seems superfluous; an extra month of heat, oppressive humidity, and 31-day tease of crisp, leaf-changing existence.

But I couldn't help but think of my baby brother, who will welcome his 23rd year on Friday. My other brother and I celebrate our birthdays in April and October respectively. Each spring and fall, we would skip to school in our birthday duds, laden down with trays of whatever confectionery delight our mom whipped up. Our classmates would gather around, vying for the biggest, softest, and most well-frosted cupcake. We were the prince and princess of our classes for one day a year.

Meanwhile, our resident August Baby celebrated birthday after birthday with just our family. No classroom celebrations. No leftover cupcakes for the bus ride home. No hand-decorated cards from the entire second-grade class.

So maybe instead of ending the summer on a sticky and saturated note, we should celebrate the lazy, ethereal, and undying days. We should lounge poolside, drink in hand. We should sport sundresses and crisp linen shirts and strappy sandals. We should travel, and eat, and dance. And most importantly, we should overcompensate for our friends who never got to partake in classroom birthday celebrations.

Daisy summer pipers come to town
Piping people out of doors
To see the magic all around
Listen now you'll hear his sound
Stare into a mirror pool
And laugh so princely vain
The skies become kaleidoscopes
With no two turns the same