Michael Pascoe and his journey to 'The Summertime of Our Dreams'

Last Tuesday was the 40th anniversary of my father’s death.

On Wednesday my book, Our Dream Summerwas about to be launched, which coincidentally made this event even more emotional for me and my brothers and sisters.

The title of this book comes from my father’s speech. How my eldest brother described his memories of childhood that our parents gave him.

“It was like a long, golden summer,” he said, “the summer of our dreams.”

The book took time to happen, just like life. It’s been a decade since I started writing it – over and over, much more than actively – with thoughts fused for countless years before.

It’s a good thing, a necessary thing, allowing books to evolve and grow with our times beyond the original intention of paying homage to the country and recognizing the gifts and opportunities my parents worked so hard to give their children.

(There is no force on earth stronger than a mother’s desire to give her children a better chance at life than she has.)

Our Dream Summer grows as it is absorbed and is built around a year-long conversation with a dying friend who wants to help others deal with death, to convince them that it shouldn’t be taken too seriously. That’s a lot of what consumes our lives can be released.

And other things happen – cancer and COVID and history and memory – the joys and the frailties of age and what kind of legacy we give to the children and grandchildren that are ours.

Fatherhood, spouse, and death – but I’m sure it’s not as bad as it might sound, especially if you can get a feel for this land and enjoy driving through it.

Along the way to this Wednesday’s launch, I’ve also learned quite a bit about publishing books, from books on the passion people have for their profession to how messy your signature can be when you sign a stack of 200 copies and how incredibly difficult it is to record an audiobook version of a copy. something that is often very personal and emotional to write, to keep your actions together.

The last paragraph written – pasted during the inspection stage – is from an incident on the waves earlier this year, recorded that day when I came home from the beach:

One morning on the waves of Sunshine Beach, a man and his daughter were swimming near me where a not-so-big wave was breaking. The girl is quite young, but a little water fairy. local people.

The girl talks about treading water and swimming and how big the waves are, the father calls out when to dive under or rise above them before they curl up. A hint of urgency in his voice – just to make sure the call is heeded – as the bigger looms, calling for a dive a little earlier, to dive deeper so that the little body may not be uprooted and toppled and dumped by the ocean. Endless power rising, crashing.

The girl is comfortable with it all, confident in her father. He comes to the surface, continues his chat where he left off, says something about being out of breath sometimes.

‘Maybe it’s because you’re always talking,’ said his father with a gentle smile. He ignored her and continued talking.

I want to tell him to lock these memories, moments with his little girl diving in the bright sunlight, the light shining on the green wall that advances; to photograph her smile in her mind, to never forget this perfect morning with whatever happened in their life, uncomplicated minutes forever happy in trust and love.

I do not. It would be presumptuous, perhaps creepy, some old man to say such things. Completely hypothetical – I wouldn’t be able to get the words out, just a thought threatening to tear me apart. Dive in and further away from them, secretly wishing them well and knowing their magic will wear off in time too. Tears under the sea. Saudade.

I was told the author is expected to read a bit of the book at launch on Wednesday. I have to choose my paragraphs carefully.

Our Dream Summer by Michael Pascoe is published by Ultimo Press and is available in bookstores and online starting August 3.

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