But for me, there will never be another summer like the summer of ‘62. I was 15 then and the high point of that summer was spending two weeks at a cottage up north with my best friend Glen and his family.

That was a big deal for me, my first time away from home, my first time travelling a fair distance from home and the best part was being with a friend I’ve known most of my life.

In looking back at the summer of ‘62 it seemed like such an innocent time. Although the Cuban Missile Crisis was just a few months away and Marilyn Monroe had died early in August, everything seemed all right with the world as far as I was concerned. And why wouldn’t it be if you’re only 15?

John F. Kennedy was running things in the U.S., Pope John XXIII was taking care of business at the Vatican and John Diefenbaker was our fearless leader here in Canada.

And I was to spend two glorious weeks doing nothing but swimming, fishing, boating and water-skiing.

Even the trip down there was exciting for me. We left in the middle of the night in my friend’s father’s Chevy Impala — the 1961 version — to get a jump on the road traffic up to cottage country. We were headed for the Huntsville area.

The absolute high point of that summer had to be learning to water ski. It took a few tries to get the hang of it, but once I mastered that it advanced to the point that on our final day there, I was part of a foursome that water skied around the lake — with nobody falling. A crowning achievement for me, then and now.

As I mentioned earlier, our cottage was in the Huntsville area around Sundridge, not too far from North Bay. In fact, one rainy day we made a side trip to North Bay.

Those two weeks, even after 45 years, still bring a wave of nostalgia for me. Especially now that it’s been almost two years since my best buddy back then, Glen, passed away. He wasn’t even 60 yet.

The trip coming back was bittersweet. While I had a head full of wonderful memories, reality was to come flying at me very fast — back to home and then back to school.

When I returned I found while everything at home was the same, I had changed. My father was painting the house, something he did every summer, and my mother was cooking in the kitchen. I can still remember the smell of that paint — and reality — even after all these years.

That summer of ‘62 had changed me like no other. There were other memorable summers to follow: going to a Beatles concert with Glen in ‘65, going to Expo ‘67 and a train trip to Vancouver much later in 1975.

But somehow being 15 and experiencing a slice of life — someone else’s life — was an eye-opener for me. Nothing can compare to being with your best friend and his family.

Glen’s gone now, passed away two years ago this September, and while I have no photos to remind me of that summer, I remember it like it was yesterday.

To paraphrase a line in the Stephen King movie Stand by Me, you never ever have friends like the one you had when you were 15.