Barefoot, Blue Jean night.

“Never gonna grow up

Never gonna slow down

We were shinin' like lighters in the dark

In the middle of a rock show

We were doin' it right

We were comin' alive

Yeah, caught up in a Southern summer,

barefoot, blue jean night.”

For some reason, and I suspect it’s because of where I grew up, we lived for warm weather; it’s easy to fall back into the memories of the summer days and nights that made these number of limited days the ones that are never forgotten. It’s a feeling, emotion, real-life memory of what made us who we are today.

Growing up with a small group of friends is what made the summer; every year that went by we added something new and fresh to our memories. It started out simple---we road bikes, we stayed out eventually past dark, and when we were 16 we were suddenly mobile. That is---outside of the confines of our subdivision---I learned of an awaiting world out there.

The first concert I went to was when I was 16; it was held at the “Arena” (aka the former “Checkerdome” when it was owned by Ralston Purina in St. Louis.) We used to call it the “echodome” as the acoustics were like listening to a concert inside of a soda bottle---the lyrics all blurred together and unless you were planted in a seat in the right spot, listening to a record player was a better option. That is, if that’s all you went to concert for.

Concerts were an escape---we would get there early and listen to the buzz  as the seats filled up. Beach balls bounced around and lighters came out, and depending on who was playing, the smell of marijuana was everywhere. It was part of the experience of being around thousands of people you didn’t know, would never see again, and had only one thing in common---you were there to have fun.

My first concert I went to was when the Beach Boys and Chicago (the band) were on tour; it was really fun, we had good seats, and although I know I was on a date, I have no idea who it was. Of what I recall she was much more interested in being at the concert than being with me. The one person I do remember was Dennis Wilson, the drummer for the Beach Boys who died a few years after the concert. It was his t-shirt I remember, it said, “No Sweat” on the front---I  thought that was really cool.

The photo above was taken at our nearby lake in Glen Ellyn; for me there is nothing more that says “summer” than the fireworks that light up the darken sky. Although I have lived this many times over, I know I will always be able to travel back to the carefree days when we all sat around and shared a “barefoot blue jean night.”

Thanks for stopping by.