Summer's End

"The Swinging Medallions are playing the Pier at 7!"

I text Sarah just as Bar Church begins, "your folks are going to love it!"

Regardless of the fact none of the Swinging Medallions perform anymore doesn't matter as their sons, grandsons and others keep the Beach Band going strong.

It's the way I feel about summer ... I don't want it to end in spite of the reality cold weather's looming.

Before I die though I'm going where summer never ends.

The Pier's packed with people having a good time, the music's great, locals and tourists mingle as one, drinks flow from the Rip Tide and we dance, talk and people watch.

Joey Spaulding meanders over, kisses Sarah square on her swollen belly and says, "I hope it's not a girl."

"Her name's Che," I reply.

"OH! That's wonderful!" he laughs wandering away.

The fireworks begin and it really is a magical show as families watch in the sand, couples sneak into the sand dunes to make love, and kids dash to the Ocean to swim under exploding stars.

Cops are everywhere but, for once, all seem to be on good behavior.

Sarah leans over the railing enjoying of the painting of the sky and a tourist in a cowboy hat crowds behind her to see too.

Sliding my hand past Cassidy, our 9 year old, between my wife and the tourist ... Cass's eyes grow big as moons and she mouths, "No Micheal" ... while giggling.

Grabbing Sarah's ass, her head jerks back with fire blazing from the baby blues at the innocent tourist in the cowboy hat.

Cass and I burst into laughter, the tourist jumps backwards, Sarah fist unclenches and everyone "oohs and ahs" at the colors dancing at night.

As soon as its over, the Medallions double shoot baby's love and we make our way through the cluster fuck that is parking on Tybee.

It's easy for us because it's a five block drive (Sarah's Dad couldn't make the walk) but I roll the window down and have a good time talking to people making their way to wherever.

"Can we open the windows?" I ask sitting with Sarah and her parents at the table after the girls have all settled elsewhere.

"Listen" she flares as if ready to punch a tourist in a Cowboy hat, "I'm twenty degrees hotter than you are with our baby ... maybe after Che's born."

"Damn," I mutter and Sarah's folks pretend they didn't hear me.

I feel pretty good though how much they're going to have me in their prayers before they go to sleep.

It's nice when people pray for you.

But ... I hate summer ending.

I don't want to see the Marsh change colors, the Ocean get cold, Manatees search for warmer waters, shrimp season end, people regularly wearing shoes ... Presidential elections.

Thank God I don't have to think about any of that for a few more months.

September through November are excellent weather wise and I'm already looking forward to Che's black running shorts ... no shirt or shoes as we glide into Thanksgiving.