When the month of March suddenly appeared and the weather blossomed into paradise, we blamed our sins on spring fever. It was 1971. We were seniors at Norwich Free Academy having fun and getting into all kinds of mischief. We realized this was the final destination of our journey, and spring created an excuse to do all the things we ever dreamed of doing, without thinking about the complications of getting caught.

In a few short months, we would be saying goodbye to the security of the last four years — and they had been wonderful years. I can still recall my first day of high school when our bus driver, Mr. Lashinski, looked into the mirror and gave each one of us a stark warning: “Listen, you kids, and never forget what I’m telling you. High school is the best time of your life. And one day you’ll look back and wish you could change all the mistakes you made. But like the rest of us, you’ll learn to live with your mistakes.”

My spring fever began on a glorious spring morning. There was a warm breeze that gently lifted the grass and filled the air with something new, something mysterious and something wonderful that was about to begin. I arrived at school that morning feeling an urgent need to do something different. Being a senior, I thought of cutting classes for the day and going with friends to Misquamicut Beach in Westerly, R.I. Call it fate or divine destiny, but at that very moment, I saw two of my best friends, Jody and Cynthia, walking toward me.

Jody was more than willing to cut classes for the day and drive us to Misquamicut Beach in his old convertible. So, with the wind in our hair and the sun in full agreement, we happily headed down Old Route 2 toward Westerly, but we kept looking back. We were not at ease, because in those days, there was someone called a truant officer. We had never seen one, but there was a rumor that he followed teenagers to the beach and returned them to justice.

The beach was empty with the exception of a group of noisy seagulls searching the land for food. We immediately took off our shoes and socks and felt the joy of warm sand gushing between our toes. There is something about being young and free and smelling the salty air and looking across the water at what appears to be miles of ocean stretching to infinity. In those days, the seaweed was very long and scattered across the beach in piles. When you swam in the ocean, you might feel it floating around your feet. But the seaweed has diminished in years due to warming oceans and other human impacts upon nature.

We were wading in the ocean and were quite content, until we saw a man in uniform approaching from a distance.

“Run!” cried Jody. “It’s the Truant Officer!”

We ran and ran until we reached the car. On the way out of the parking lot, we saw another man wearing the same uniform. He was whistling and picking up garbage with a long stick.

On the way back from the beach we stopped at The Dew Drop Inn. I will never forget the main walkway had a big dip in the center of the floor. Jody was not watching where he was going and tripped and fell into the lap of a little old lady sitting on a bench. She smiled and said, “Are you falling for me?” We ate fish and chips, coconut cream pie, and finished with a bottomless cup of coffee.

On the way back to Norwich, we realized it was too early to go home. Jody suggested we go to The Beverly Tea Room. I said: “No. The owner said never to cut school and go there. He might tell our parents.”

We decided to ride through Bozrah. All of us had graduated from Fields Memorial School, and we were feeling a little nostalgic. Jody parked the car across the road from the school. We grew still when looking at the playground. We stared at the silent swings and tall slides that we loved so well. The warm weather and seeing the playground again brought back fond memories. I thought of the innocent games of kickball and hopscotch and sledding down the big hill in winter. And then I realized: We would never be children again. Everyone has only one turn, and our time had passed. Everything was changing so fast, and soon we would be graduating from high school. At that moment a boy and his father crossed the road. We could hear their conversation.

“Dad,” said the boy, “I don’t want to ever leave first grade.”

“Oh,” said the dad, “you must. You have great adventures waiting for you. You must accept change. We need change to grow and become who we need to be.”

Wishing you a wonderful spring!

Concetta Falcone-Codding is the author of “The Lonely Nest.” She can be contacted at concettafalconecodding1@gmail.com.