We have a new watermelon margarita at work. I haven't tried it. But because we have this new drink, we also have watermelon in the restaurant. We use a slice of it to garnish the rita.
If you've never worked in a restaurant, let me introduce you to a simple truth: servers like to snitch garnishes.
The first time we got to eat watermelon, it reminded me of summers as a child. I have this memory from when we lived in the Salt Lake area, when our family and a few other families were having a neighborhood barbecue. There was a house a few doors down that was still under construction. Some of us neighbor kids took our watermelon slices and played between the beams of this skeleton house. I'm sure the people building the house weren't excited about the watermelon seeds the next day.
I think about the time we spent in that neighborhood with quite a lot of fondness. I remember feeling happy and safe there. Summertime thrived on watermelon, popsicles, bare feet, and the hope that if the ice cream truck came around, dad would buy us a treat.
I wasn't expecting those memories to return to me when I bit into that watermelon. But it's nice to have them back again. It's a bit of happiness in an adult summer, filled with responsibilities, and a reminder of carefree simplicity to that kid who still lives inside of me.