It's the most wonderful time of the year

Now, as the calendar has burned another summer away, I find myself shifting that mindset just a little bit, and in the days following the Labour Day holiday, I'm even more convinced that my feelings of euphoria in these heady first days of September are not misplaced.

Why? Summer is the very symbol of freedom – freedom from school, work, teachers, restrictions, early nightfalls and snow. Least it was when I was younger. Now, though, I find myself more excited than ever for the first weeks of September.

Now that I am an adult and must work all summer – or for most of it, anyway – the thrill of sunny summer days is coming to an end.

I love swimming in our neighbourhood pool, but that can easily be replaced by the smorgasbord of televised football games on TV – and then some. Not to mention the incredible amount of amateur football games being played across the West Island on any given September weekend.

My daughter is back in preschool, giving my wife a small respite from looking after a four-year-old and a two-month-old all day long, and even though the end of the golf season is but a month and change away (at most), cheaper rates at local courses are in effect, trading off any negatives about the end of the season.

Topping it all, though, is the cool evenings and temperate daytime weather September brings us. If the summer of 2009 has taught us anything, it's that even if the sun is not out, the overbearing humidity and mugginess can remain, delightfully. September weather is the opposite. Warm days. Beautiful nights for sleeping, usually accompanied by just a hint of the winter chill to come. Not to mention new episodes of my favourite TV shows, hockey season being just around the corner, and other reasons.

That childlike part of me (my wife would say it's more than a small part) still feels like someone has died in those first few days following the closure of pools, camps and other such endeavours (probably because it's a lot quieter), but in the end, I can't be too upset.

I get to watch my beloved Chicago Bears and Montreal Alouettes on TV regularly, my daughter comes home from school tired and happy, and my wife gets a break. Happy wife, happy life, right?

I think that my 16-year-old self – who was always heartbroken by the shift away from leisure and back to serious pursuits -- would feel a little like punching my 32-year-old self in the face, but that's OK.

My 16-year-old self was a bit of an idiot, anyway.