Imagination a dying art.
Imagination a dying art.
I was visiting with two mothers the other day, they were both lamenting the busy schedules their children had, between school, homework, chores at home, soccer, wrestling, swim meets, their children were going from morning to night, everyday of the week.
Being the innocent I am, I asked the obvious question. Why do you have them enrolled in so many activities?
Both mother looked horrified, at my naivety, in calm voices they explain to me “That it is very important that children kept busy, that children who get board, get into trouble, end up in gangs, and then prison.”
Wow!
I did not know!
When I was growing up. When we got board, our imaginations took over. We built forts, fought bad guys, were the hero’s of our own lives. We made up stories in our heads; we sang songs that we made up as we went along. We invented games, toys, and all kinds of new mousetraps. We read a book for the pure joy of sitting in the sun, and escaping to magical islands; we climbed trees and discovered darkest Africa. We were nurses and doctors to our dolls; we were Bonnie and Clyde, Jessie James. We were wonder woman cat woman sometimes even the bionic woman.
We sat in empty boxes and took long drives across the country when we got board of driving, our vehicle would turn into an airplane, and we would glide over the cities and through the clouds. We were Ginger or Mary Ann trapped on an island with four men who did not have a clue. We were mommies and daddy’s playing house. We were astronauts, with an Indiana Jones twist. We were firefighters, and police officers, we were ballerinas, and race car drivers.
Now did we get in trouble Yes, I broke my arm on one of my expedition to Africa. Climbing into the canopy, I slipped, falling to earth in my backyard. I twisted my ankle, skinned my knees, and cut my finger, I broke my mother’s best dishes making mud pies I let the dog chase the cat, I did not clean my room, I broke the window bouncing on the bed. I did not come when my mother called me, and I intentionally got my new cloths dirty,
I got punished for being mean, for not being polite, for talking back, for throwing rocks, I got spanked for teasing the neighbor girl, and for kicking my sister (in the head) I got sent to my room, for tantrums, and for being a brat.
When I left the two mothers, they were very content sharing their misery. As I came to my car, I saw that the rain had left a large mud puddle in front of the driver side door. I looked at it.
Then deliberately and with full force, I jumped as high and hard as I could into the very middle. The cold water splashed up my nylons and soaked my new high heels. My black skirt had little drops of brown mud splatter across the butt, raising my arms into the air; I was impressed that my high diving skills were still so honed.
Opening the door, I slide behind the wheel of my car and whispered “carpet up.” I was content.
Maybe kids are different today.
That thought made me a little sad.
I was visiting with two mothers the other day, they were both lamenting the busy schedules their children had, between school, homework, chores at home, soccer, wrestling, swim meets, their children were going from morning to night, everyday of the week.
Being the innocent I am, I asked the obvious question. Why do you have them enrolled in so many activities?
Both mother looked horrified, at my naivety, in calm voices they explain to me “That it is very important that children kept busy, that children who get board, get into trouble, end up in gangs, and then prison.”
Wow!
I did not know!
When I was growing up. When we got board, our imaginations took over. We built forts, fought bad guys, were the hero’s of our own lives. We made up stories in our heads; we sang songs that we made up as we went along. We invented games, toys, and all kinds of new mousetraps. We read a book for the pure joy of sitting in the sun, and escaping to magical islands; we climbed trees and discovered darkest Africa. We were nurses and doctors to our dolls; we were Bonnie and Clyde, Jessie James. We were wonder woman cat woman sometimes even the bionic woman.
We sat in empty boxes and took long drives across the country when we got board of driving, our vehicle would turn into an airplane, and we would glide over the cities and through the clouds. We were Ginger or Mary Ann trapped on an island with four men who did not have a clue. We were mommies and daddy’s playing house. We were astronauts, with an Indiana Jones twist. We were firefighters, and police officers, we were ballerinas, and race car drivers.
Now did we get in trouble Yes, I broke my arm on one of my expedition to Africa. Climbing into the canopy, I slipped, falling to earth in my backyard. I twisted my ankle, skinned my knees, and cut my finger, I broke my mother’s best dishes making mud pies I let the dog chase the cat, I did not clean my room, I broke the window bouncing on the bed. I did not come when my mother called me, and I intentionally got my new cloths dirty,
I got punished for being mean, for not being polite, for talking back, for throwing rocks, I got spanked for teasing the neighbor girl, and for kicking my sister (in the head) I got sent to my room, for tantrums, and for being a brat.
When I left the two mothers, they were very content sharing their misery. As I came to my car, I saw that the rain had left a large mud puddle in front of the driver side door. I looked at it.
Then deliberately and with full force, I jumped as high and hard as I could into the very middle. The cold water splashed up my nylons and soaked my new high heels. My black skirt had little drops of brown mud splatter across the butt, raising my arms into the air; I was impressed that my high diving skills were still so honed.
Opening the door, I slide behind the wheel of my car and whispered “carpet up.” I was content.
Maybe kids are different today.
That thought made me a little sad.
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