"Beach Baby" by First Class. Totally early '70s up through summer of 1977, when I moved from N.J. to Hawaii. The breezy, pop tune, a one-hit wonder, reflected the laid-back, innocent surfer summer days I remember. Crushes on the boy next door. Playing jacks on the porch with your best friend. The gang on Juniper St. joining in for a round of kick ball before a block party. My dad's barbecue chicken. Helping him train the new pitchers as the coach's daughter. The world felt brand-new, already tinged with the hazy sawdust of forgotten memories. That song always reminds me of the boy who first saw me and made me feel worth loving. Bobby died on 9/11, serving his country at the Pentagon; I didn't find out until years later on the Internet. That song will always remind me of those summer days as a 12-year-old, where the only thing I had to worry about was homework and what to eat for lunch (ham and tomato with mustard, or bologna and mayo).
And, that trumpet at the end...if that doesn't scream nostalgia, hop scotch and Barbie dolls, I don't know what does.