I hope that you don't mind I edited your title @Dad3! My fondest summer memories so far are from summers past; here's a few.
  1. Our family hitches our pop-up camper to the back of the station wagon and head to Inks Lake in a caravan with two other families. The smell of the interior of a pop-up camper will stay with me always: slightly moldy, musty, woodsy.
    My life-long love of fire smoke smell begins here.
  2. My kid brother and I are on a swim team, and we spend our summer weekdays swimming and roaming around the pool area with a small band of all-age kids. Our parents all work, so we watch out for each other. We pool our snack bar lunch money to buy a couple of burgers we split up, and spend the rest on candy.
    My hair feels like straw and I'm as tan as I'll ever be.
  3. We somehow develop a tradition of filling an empty milk jug with water from our pool on Fridays to take to Saturday "away" swim meets. Prior to the start of these meets, we paint our faces with colors of zinc oxide, and ceremoniously pour the home pool water across one end of the away pool.
    We are wild, fierce, and fast. We believe in our own magic.
  4. My dad takes my brother and I to my Aunt & Uncle's cabin on Lake Bomoseen. There's no television, or Internet. Just sitting on the dock with my cousins teaching myself how to bait a fishhook without touching the worm, and reeling in fish after fish. I swallow most of the lake learning to waterski.
    Let go of the rope when you fall, kids.
  5. I have a few girlfriends who live on my block. We want to ride our bikes to the homes of our various middle school crushes, and cruise past until they come out. Except we don't know where they live, exactly, because we only ever see them outside of school at the bus stop. We ride around the bus stop for hours, sharing lifesavers and Chapstick.
    Fresh breath and moist lips are important to us in case there's kissing—an activity none of us have engaged in. The boys never come out, and eventually we're having too much fun to care.