Try to remember...

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

I've always loved those lyrics by Tom Jones. I've always loved September, autumn, fall. You awake one morning from that dreadful thing called August to a chill in the air and think Oh, September. Finally. And you remember when life was slow and oh, so mellow. Or at least I do.

In September, you remember when grass was green and grain was yellow. Or at least I do. I remember when things were distinct, like the colors green or yellow. These days the grass is often brown or gray; grain is sometimes black. It feels as if the foundations are destroyed, like we're skipping a season, anxious for the leaves to fall so we can get on with it. It is not distinct.

In September, you remember when you were a tender and callow fellow. Or at least I do. Ah, to be tender and young and immature and boyish. We all need tender days of September, days to be youthful and inexperienced, awkward and innocent. These days there's not much room, if any, for callow. The tweeners, my tweeners, are being marketed to with a vengeance, the preschoolers are too. Dad, we're the only kids without a cell phone. Sure, I want my kids to be prepared for tomorrow, but what about today, what about September?

Try to remember, and if you remember, then follow...

Yes, I'm remembering the past. Yes, this post is probably more about me than my tweeners. Yes, these words would bleed sentimental if you cut them. Yes, my thoughts are tinged with grief and loss and longing and love. It's what happens to me when I try to remember that kind of September.