How Can a Shoe’s Sole be a Sound of Summer? – Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

How Can a Shoe’s Sole be a Sound of Summer? – Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

I have been reading about the coming of the cicadas after their seventeen-year hiatus underground. No, they were not in the chill and shadowy place near the River Styx, that river of hatred and omen. They’ve just been hanging out someplace down there waiting for the perfect time to hatch. The wait has lasted a generation. I hope they find it worth the time. And, I have been reading of the sound they will bring once they peek their heads above ground, look around, be sure they are in the right place, make sure that someone is listening and start their chants.

The cacophony is described as a deafening, high-pitched, buzzing and clicking chorus louder than lawnmowers, dirt bikes, and tractors, particularly when millions of the harmless, bulgy-eyed creatures pop up and come out to play at the same time.

The potential of their calls has me thinking of sounds of summer that engender memories of years gone by on steamy streets, in muggy homes, and under bright sun at the beach. What are those sounds?

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Splashing meant the beach, a pool, a sprinkler or just plopping in a puddle on a hot street after a summer rain. The splash was a reliable reminder of summer days of fun and hope . . . for more sun, of course.

The choruses of calling insects. When it was ridiculously hot, we heard the incessant sewing bee or the cicada during the day, and when the sun went down, crickets and katydids began their serenades in tandem. I loved it because it meant that the warm summer evening was prolonging our day. Too hot to sleep, we sat on our porches; neighbors doing the same, their susurrus conversations competing with the crickets, and us.

As the 4th of July approached, so too did the sounds of fireworks, cherry bombs, salutes, and sparklers.  And the crackle of wood from the bonfire on the night before.

There was the sizzle of a barbecue, the crash of ocean waves, the pitter-patter of a rain shower, the croaks of pond frogs and the heightened seasonal serenade of the birds.

Here is a summer sound I suspect did not enter your mind. It was the flap of a shoe whose sole has separated from its base, at first starting with a small opening then quickly morphing to an animal unto itself, one that accompanied you wherever you went . . . step, flap, step, flap, step, flap. I’m not sure why the shoe lost its sole only in summer, but so it seemed to me.

Before I got it to our cobbler, aptly named “Shoemake-a,” I cut the flap. That made matters worse because now, with the sole gone, there was nothing but a wad of something thin between my foot and the hot pavement, and it burned.

You may think I lost my soul in considering the floppy flap a sound of summer, but so it was.

Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.”  Learn more here.