My childhood was common as dirt in every possible way, and I always figured every kid lived as we did.
From sun-up to sundown, we enjoyed a blend of made-up games and contests drawn out of simple tasks needing to be accomplished. It was mostly fun, always interesting, and somehow we managed to stay in one piece.
I’ll never forget the experience of staying overnight with a “townie’ girlfriend one summer night. I was so thrilled to be off on a “vacation“ and had all kinds of thoughts as to what we could do.
When we got up the next morning, after sleeping gloriously late, we hadn’t even slurped the last of the milk from our breakfast bowls when she said, “Mom. I’m bored. What can we do today?”
HORRORS! I had visions of her mother digging out the pitchfork and telling us to pitch out the manure in the old horse stalls or saying, “All right, by golly, you can help give iron shots to the baby pigs all afternoon!”
Summer to us always meant hard work a good part of the time, and whatever time was left over truly left no time at all for that word that I still find very hard to say — boredom.
Summer was the glorious time in which the clock didn’t rule us so completely. We could build intricate tunnels in the straw mow, not yet filled again to the rafters. It was the sweet perfection of a swan dive into the farm pond, and improving upon such challenging things as “underwater endurance’ while doing a handstand in that cold, murky water.
Summer meant freedom from school, but it also meant the real work of a farm was just beginning. When there was a chance for fun, only a fool would threaten those fantastic possibilities with the words, “I’m bored.”
Baseball bats, balls and badminton birdies were never too far from reach, and it never seemed to matter how hot it was or even if it rained a little bit. The game would go on, new rules invented on the fly.
Summer nights meant a bonfire at the pond after a simple picnic Mom had put together, chasing lightning bugs and playing freeze tag. Summer meant sleeping out on the roof porch, telling ghost stories and watching for a falling star to wish upon.
Summer’s call of crickets meant the days were clicking by, a new beginning was ahead and there was not a moment to be wasted. Our days were precious, and they were all ours.
What a great lesson for a kid to learn, and what a great way to learn it.
