The Ghost of Watermelons Past

Watermelon is hands-down my favorite summer treat. Better than ice cream—most days. It’s deliciously sweet with a happy shade of pink and a unique texture that cools the inside of your mouth. Kinda like a cherry popsicle but without that nasty wooden stick through the middle. It’s low-cal, too, and guilt-free food is always a plus.

But for me, the best part about eating watermelon is that it evokes some pretty vivid memories from different time periods in my life, starting with my childhood.

A Kid in the ‘70s

My brother is three years younger than me, and we fought a lot when we were kids. I can remember some pretty horrific battles between the two of us, which I’m sure stressed my mom and dad out on more than one occasion. But we had our moments. When sibling rivalry didn't get the best of us, we simply played...and laughed...and goofed around as little kids do.

In the summertime, we enjoyed sitting squished together on the tiny set of wooden stairs attached to our back porch, eating watermelon off the rind. We’d sink our front teeth into the fleshy part (as long as those teeth weren't missing), take giant bites, and let the juice drip down our arms. Sometimes my brother would wipe the juice on me, getting me good and sticky. Then I'd squeal, maybe even punch him in the arm, calling out “Mom!” to tattle on him when he punched me back.

We’d spit the slimy black seeds from our mouths like missiles, trying to land them in an oversized metal tub that our mom had filled with dirt, specifically for that purpose. We were fiercely competitive, trying to see who could shoot those suckers the farthest and throw each other high-fives whenever one hit the target. The few times Mom brought home a seedless watermelon, I can remember groaning with disappointment. Boo, hiss. No fun!

As the summer weeks passed, my brother and I would regularly inspect the dirt inside the tub, waiting for tiny stems of green to sprout. Our goal was to see one of our seeds grow into a watermelon big enough to eat. That never happened, but we sure had fun trying.

Whenever I see someone spitting watermelon seeds today, my mind wanders back in time. Back to when life seemed easier, less complicated. When joy could easily be found in something as simple as a piece of fruit.

A Wanna-Be Singer in the ‘80s

Beyond its taste and texture, “watermelon”—the word itself—reminds me of my very short-lived experience as a "singer" when I was a teenager and young adult. The word "singer" is used loosely here. Perhaps I should say when I joined a choir or participated in a college singing ensemble. Either way, watermelon was my friend back then—and not in the way you might think.

In high school, I joined the choir, most likely because I needed another elective and it fit into my schedule as I am not vocally gifted. Our choir director took her job very seriously and her pet peeve was when students obviously forgot the words during a live performance. Who me? How could she tell?

To avoid having anyone in the choir look foolish, staring off into the audience with their mouths gaping open and their eyes wide with confusion, she recommended that if we ever got stumped on the lyrics, we should mouth the word “watermelon” over and over until we could find our place again. Apparently, this is a common trick used to create the illusion that you’re still singing along. I used it regularly.

I was given that same advice when I participated in a sorority singing competition while in college. This time, when the choral leader specifically asked me to mouth the word "watermelon" instead of belting out the words to Lee Greenwood's God Bless the USA, the message was loud and clear. As much as I love to sing, I had always suspected that I can't carry a tune, and there she was encouraging me to keep quiet.

Ouch! The truth hurts. I could have at least tried lip-synching.

But, "watermelon," it was!

A ’90s Mom

Our middle child was born in 1998 and she has been obsessed with watermelon for as long as I can remember. I’m sure it was one of the first fruits she tried as a toddler, and it’s always at the top of my grocery list when she comes home for a visit. For her birthday one year, we threw a watermelon-themed party—complete with pink and green balloons and streamers, and a watermelon-shaped cake.

Now, there’s never a time when I’m cutting watermelon into cubes that I don’t picture her tiny hands reaching across the cutting board and swiping those chunks out from under my nose.

“Get outta there,” I used to say as I swatted her arm away—gently of course. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

But in true middle child form, she rarely listened. And if no one was there to stop her, I swear she's eaten an entire watermelon by herself—more than once.

Honestly, I hide the bowl of watermelon whenever she’s around if I want to serve it with dinner. That can be irritating, but now she lives hundreds of miles away.

Oh, what I’d do to have those tiny hands stealing the watermelon from under my nose again.

Some closing thoughts

So, yes, I love watermelon for its flavor and its refreshing qualities. But more than that, I love what it symbolizes. Maybe not the subtle reminder of my less-than-lovely singing voice, but surely as a recollection of lazy summer days as a young girl spending time with my brother and the seasons that flew by so quickly as a mom catering to a house full of children.

The passage of time is a funny thing. The older I get, the more I look for reasons to smile because of the simpler things in life—like biting into a juicy and delicious piece of watermelon on a warm summer night.