I have a dear friend, of almost 40 years’ standing, whose birthday arrives every year, like clockwork, near the end of September. And for reasons I’ve long since forgotten, it has become tradition for me to write a poem for each of his natal days . . . always on a humorous note, and often incorporating a soupçon of snarky political commentary. It’s not what you’d call great (or even good) poetry, but it’s a lot of fun. And it’s time to get started on this year’s offering.

But September is meaningful to me in a number of other ways as well. As a youngster, of course, it meant heading back to school after the long, lazy summer. In those years, schools didn’t open until after Labor Day, which may have had something to do with the fact that the buildings weren’t air-conditioned.

September also meant that we could no longer wear white shoes. There was no law or regulation against it, of course; it just wasn’t “done.” It was time to put away the cottons and pastels until the following Easter, and pull out the woolens and plaids — at least in the northeast corner of the U.S. where I grew up.

Over the years, a lot of things happened to our family in September . . . mostly deaths. I remember my grandfather and great-grandmother dying within days of each other when I was just eight years old. Years later, my mother’s older sister passed away in September; and then, later still, my mother also succumbed to what had become known as the family’s “September curse.” For years, my sister and I scarcely dared to breathe for those 30 days, and only exhaled at midnight on October 1st.

And speaking of my sister, she was born in September. I lost her nearly eight years ago — but at least she had the decency to hold on until October. And my precious, beautiful granddaughter Emily came into our lives prematurely one memorable September . . . only to leave us after just 26 years.

It’s a month that reminds me of the inexorable passage of time.

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But September is also a time for celebration. It’s the precursor to my favorite season — autumn — when the days gradually grow shorter and cooler, and the air begins to smell better: somehow cleaner, crisper. The sun slants down at a different angle, trees dress themselves in their autumn colors, and the people finally emerge from their air-conditioned cocoons . . . at least, until the first nor’easter blows in.

It’s the month when retailers jump head-first into the holiday season, urging us to get our Christmas shopping done early. Personally, I’d like to celebrate Halloween and Thanksgiving first, if that’s okay.

And if you’re Jewish, it’s the start of a new year. Rosh Hashanah begins on September 23rd this year, bringing blessings and hope for a better, more sane, less traumatic year than the last one has been.

And on that note, as my beloved Bubbe used to say: “From your mouth to God’s ears.”

Happy September, everyone.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/30/25