Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.

And so we will.

Thoughts today were generated by a 7-year-old’s recent query to his Dad, which went something like this:

“So, Dad, what did you do in the summertime when you were a kid?”

Nate and I were out back at the time – or the lower 40 as my father used to call it – plotting and scheming to defeat each other’s armies of soldiers, Autobots and Decepticons – yes, the newest Transformers movie is on the horizon for July 3 – when the query came.

“Well, son, we did lots of stuff,” was my response.

I added that most of the stuff we did as kids involved one sport or the other. I was a sandlot type of kid, perhaps a dying breed in this neck of the woods anyway, and my days were spent playing baseball on the playgrounds and drinking my fill of Kool-Aid or soft drinks.

Back in those days, young boys were preoccupied with two things: their baseball gloves and their bikes.

Beyond that, you could add baseball card collections, rock collections, bug collections or, quite frankly, any other collections kids could hoard in their rooms.

My youngest son, Nate, has just entered the hoarding state, and he has advanced from the training wheels state on his bike to the roaming state, a freedom that will see him find the neighborhood sandlots.

And then, his life will never be the same.

A canteen of Kool-Aid, which can always be replaced by a quick jaunt to the local store, accompanied by snacks of homemade sandwiches and snacks, start the day off just right.

I have no conscious memories of worrying about hot weather in my summertime jaunts. In fact, if a pickup ballgame created too much of a sweat, there was always time for a quick swim at the local pond or watering hole.

What a lucky kid I was.

But it was the ballgames that I will remember most.

There’s nothing quite like a group of young boys, picking sides then having at it in a game of hardball. Once Little League season was over, the best place to play was out on the sundry diamonds scattered around our neighborhood.

We could line the fields with a little “borrowed” lime from our fathers’ tool shed, dust off the plate with our mothers’ brooms, and water the dry field with a borrowed hose or two.

Yes, we were enterprising young boys and, yes, we could arrange the field of play much like the big boys did on TV.

We could, of course, imitate most of the stars we longed to be, right down to batting stances and pitching forms.

After all, we were future stars, weren’t we?

The games would end at dusk, and we proudly made our way home for supper. No one dared to evoke the wrath of the toughest umpires in our midst, our mothers, by being late for the dinner bell, which, in our house, sounded about 6:30 p.m.

So, Nate, that’s what I did in the summer. Today, you have many more activities at your disposal. With organized camps and programs of all kinds, I don’t imagine that there will be too much boredom.

30-Second Time Out

Hats off to Bangor Metro magazine and writer Hal Wheeler for a recent outstanding article on Bud Leavitt.

Wheeler caught the spirit of the late, great outdoorsman, and he brought back memories of a cascade of Brewer boys, riding our bikes to Hampden, trying to catch a glimpse of Bud and his friend Ted Williams as they exited Bud’s house for another outdoor jaunt together.

BDN columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net