Welcome, Kids, to My 1980s Summer

Years ago, before I had kids of my own, I was talking to a friend on the phone and all of a sudden, she gasped loudly and said, “We don’t use that word in this house!” to her young son. I could’ve minded my own business and carried on with the conversation, but what fun is that? I had to know what was said.

My mind went wild with possibilities of “that word.” It had to be an obscenity, right? But which one? There were so many to choose from! I casually asked my friend what was going on and was shocked by her response.

Her little boy had uttered the "b" word. But hold on – it’s not what you’re thinking. He had said he was bored. Bored. That was the word. Admittedly, I rolled my eyes, underwhelmed by the news.

Several years and two kids later, I totally get it. As soon as I hear the "b" word, I become a lunatic listing off 15 chores my wide-eyed child could do RIGHT NOW. Toilets need cleaning, laundry folding, shelves dusting. Somehow, my rant immediately squelches said boredom.

Now that we’re on the brink of summer vacation, this topic has been on my mind and here’s why: My kids are signed up for swimming lessons at the local high school, we’re visiting my sister’s cabin for a few days, and possibly taking a trip out of state. Otherwise, there will be hours and hours of time to fill.

Thinking about it makes me a little twitchy because of my own summers back in the 80s and 90s. I’m the much-youngest of seven children, so my siblings were all out of the house before I got out of grade school. This meant I had a lot of time alone. A whole lot of time alone actually. And by alone, I mean that my parents were both home, but did absolutely nothing to entertain me. I was on my own for hours, days, months. Summer after summer after summer.

I took swimming lessons (my mom never learned to swim, so she made all seven of us take lessons for years) and begged to be signed up for soccer and tennis. But if I participated in anything, I had to find my own ride and sometimes that was more trouble than it was worth.

If there’s one word I’d use to describe my summer vacations as a child it would be the "b" word. I was deeply, memorably bored. I’m not an adventurous person, so I never strayed too far from home. There were no neighborhood kids nearby. We didn’t belong to a country club or live on a lake with its built-in entertainment.

So here’s how it played out: I read. A lot. Walked to the library every day with my backpack full of books. I watched TV. A lot. We had three channels (and – bonus! – a window air conditioner in the same room as the TV!), so I became a whiz at “The Price is Right” and still have a place in my heart for LeVar Burton from “Reading Rainbow.”

I’d wander around the neighborhood looking for someone to play with. This evolved into an illustrious babysitting career, and by age 10, I had several families who were regular customers.

I called my friends (I still have many of their phone numbers memorized). They always had more going on than I did, but sometimes I’d get invited along on their family’s adventures.

My chronic, sometimes painful boredom explains why I have mixed feelings about how to approach my own children’s summer plans. Because, really, as much as I may have benefited from more structure and fun, I see the value in a certain amount of boredom.

Dare I say, I got to know who I was during those endless summer days.

I read an article awhile back that asked what activities you enjoyed most as a child. Mine included reading books, writing, reading magazines, babysitting, and talking, talking, talking to whoever would listen. As a 38-year-old, not much has changed (except I’m not getting paid to watch the two kids I’m around all day!), but here’s the thing: If I had grown up with a full, hectic schedule from June to September, my favorite activities would’ve quickly become buried under busyness.

The hours I spent writing in my spiral notebooks with their neon covers, reading the entire “Choose Your Own Adventure” series, and asking endless questions to anyone I met (my husband says I still do this) would never have happened had I been schlepped from one activity to another.

That’s why, this summer, my kids will experience their share of boredom. Sure, I’ll take them bowling on scorching days, to $1 movies, the beach and the zoo. But they’ll still have hours and hours of time to fill.

I see this as a great opportunity, because you know what else they have? A large wooded yard with a basketball hoop in the front and a swing set in the back. A sand table, a water table and a hose. Piles of books and paper. A cupboard filled with art supplies. Scads of neighborhood kids running around. A piano, a keyboard, a drum, a xylophone. And a mother who always has a list of chores on hand.

Welcome to a 1980s summer, kids. I hope the long, hot days help form your interests, talents and dreams the same way they did mine.