August snuck up on them. One week it was the Sabathanites marching down 4th Avenue, another week it was the Fourth of July chaos at Powderhorn, and now suddenly the sun was setting a little earlier and the breeze felt just a touch cooler in the evenings.
Even Phelps Park seemed different—still loud, still full of kids, but something in the air said summer won’t last forever. Derrick and his friends sat under their favorite tree near the parkhouse, finishing off a bag of red licorice Marcus had bought with loose change. Tony leaned back on his elbows.
“You know practice start in a couple weeks.”
“For football?” Leon asked even though he knew the answer.
“Yeah,” Tony said.
Reggie rubbed his shoulder as if preparing for imaginary tackles.
“I’m ready. Coach said they need my speed this year.”
“You ain’t fast,” Tony teased.
“I’m fast enough not to get tackled by you,” Reggie shot back, making everyone laugh.
Leon looked thoughtful.
“I played in St. Louis before we moved. Wasn’t too good at catching the ball, but I could hit somebody. I could light somebody up!”
“Good,” Marcus said. “Catchin’ is for the skinny kids. Hitting is for the ones who eat like Reggie.”
“Hey!” Reggie said, mouth full of licorice. “This is an athletic diet.”
Derrick laughed but stayed quiet for a moment. He liked football, but it made his stomach twist a little. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he was better than he thought? What if he actually ended up on the front line with kids older and bigger?
Before he could get lost in those thoughts, Tony nudged him.
“You coming out too, right?”
Derrick nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Good,” Leon said. “You’re fast. And you got good balance on your bike.”
“Since when does riding a bike got anything to do with football?” Marcus asked.
“Everything got something to do with everything,” Leon replied, sounding like somebody’s uncle.
After a while the talk drifted toward school—not homework or tests, but the idea of being fifth graders. At Bancroft Elementary, fifth grade meant you weren’t little kids anymore. You got more privileges, more responsibility, and sometimes more freedom.
“I hope we learn more history this year,” Derrick said. “Like real history. About what happened in the world.”
“Think they’ll talk about Dr. King?” Nina asked from where she and Kim were sitting nearby making daisy chains.
“I hope so,” Tony said. “And Malcom X too.”
“I heard we’re getting a new principal,” Kim added. “Mrs. Thompson retired.”
“I heard this new one is strict,” Marcus said. “Not mean—just expects kids to act right.”
Reggie made a face.
“That means no more running in the hall.”
Tony rolled his eyes.
“Can’t have no fun!”
Donna joined them, catching the last part of the conversation.
“My grandma says fifth grade was when she started feeling grown. Like she wasn’t just a little kid anymore.”
Derrick liked the sound of that. Fifth grade felt like a doorway—one that opened into something bigger than summer days and bike rides. Still exciting. Still a little scary, although he would never admit that to anyone.
Another thing that came with late August was the Minnesota State Fair. You could hear about it on the radio every couple of minutes—ads about the rides, the animals, the caramel apples, and of course, the famous corn dogs.
“My cousin from over north said they got a new roller coaster this year,” Leon said, eyes bright. “A wooden one. High as three buildings.”
“Man, I likes me some fair,” Marcus said. “I’m gonna win one of those giant stuffed bears.” Tony snorted.
“Those games are rigged. You ain’t winning nothing.”
“I’ll win something,” Marcus insisted. “Even if it’s just a goldfish.”
“Those goldfish don’t live past Tuesday,” Nina said.
“They don’t have to!” Marcus shot back. “It’s just the thought of winning something!”
“I’m going for the food. Corn on the cob. Corn dogs. Those funnel cakes.”
“What about you, Derrick?” Donna asked. “You going?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We go almost every year. My dad likes the machinery hill. Mama likes the crafts building. I like everything.”
Derrick didn’t mention the thing he really liked: that feeling of walking around the fairgrounds at dusk when all the lights were coming on—red, yellow, blue—reflecting off the metal rides and making the whole place look like magic.
Tony leaned close.
“We should all go on the same day. Take the bus.”
“You think our parents will let us?” Derrick asked.
“Maybe,” Tony said. “We’ll ask ’em real nice.”
“And offer to babysit our little sisters the next day,” Marcus added.
“That never works,” Reggie pointed out.
“Sure don’t,” Derrick agreed.
As the sun dipped lower, turning the tree line gold, Derrick felt that bittersweet tug again—the knowledge that summer was still here, still warm, still theirs… but not for long. Somewhere behind the parkhouse, some older kids were playing music and singing along with James Brown’s new song, “Say It Loud: I’m Black And I’m Proud.” It was a powerful song, that had really become an anthem, especially for young Black America.
Before long, the leaves would start to turn. But right now? Right now the air smelled like grass and charcoal. Right now kids were still running through the wading pool. Right now everyone was together, laughing so loud the whole park could hear them.
This was the sweet spot of summer—the part you don’t realize you’ll miss until it’s gone. And Derrick, sitting under that big tree with licorice on his fingers and dreams in his head, felt glad. Glad for this neighborhood. Glad for his friends. Glad for football tryouts, and fifth grade, and the state fair waiting on the horizon. The world was changing fast in 1968. But for a few more warm evenings, the neighborhood was still theirs. Still home. Still full of possibility.