No longer looking forward to summer as a child, maybe not for the summer. The summer I remember was supposed to be on my grandpa's squeaky old rock chair, chewing a popsicle and blowing a fan. If you hear a small partner out of the door: go. So he put a popsicle into his mouth, rubbed his mouth with an ablaze, dragged his sandals in half, and ran out to the point where it was the hot sun or the dark clouds. This summer has gone on for many years, and now there's a four-year-old baby in the family, and look at the look on his face when he looks at the popsicle, and she knows he's interested in this thing! I always wanted to follow his footsteps and pick up some fragments of time so that I could pick up the broken pieces of my childhood. So he grew a little bit, and I didn't want to miss it. Even a little drop of popsicle. And in his eyes, it was a great wonder
