If my last post seemed critical of moms who want their children to do more than sit in front of the tv all summer long, I did not properly convey my sentiments. I am all for kids being able to think creatively and explore new worlds without having to worry about report cards. You and I know that some parents do go a bit overboard, though, failing to balance activities with down time. The end result is that the whole family can get to be pretty cranky, which leads to some pretty joyless memories.
The fact is, I, too, enjoyed many varying summer activities during my childhood, including classes in Journalism, Public Speaking, Typing, and German at Adams Elementary. To get to school, we carpooled with a neighborhood family. The mother drove a beat-up station wagon and the kids looked as though they had just gotten out of bed, tousled hair and sheet imprints still on their faces. When they pulled up in our driveway, and this is the truth, they were still eating breakfast.
I don’t mean noshing on a few Cheerios from a Tupperware container the way little kids do at church; when I say cereal I mean the full meal deal. By the time they got to our house what was left in the bowl was curdling milk and a few pieces of soggy Lucky Charms that had ceased to be magically delicious. My sister and I rode silently, our teeth clenched and our bodies plastered against the doors to limit the surface area that could potentially be exposed to airborne sour milk if Mrs. S drove too quickly over the railroad tracks. It seemed like so much work to take the bowls out to the car, eat, and then figure out how to dispose of the remaining cereal and milk when all this family needed to do was just wake up ten minutes earlier and eat breakfast at home.
For several years my summer activities included swimming. Based on the number of lessons I took I should be able to do much more than dog paddle from one end of the pool to the other, but sadly, swimming just didn’t take. Even as a kid I was so nearsighted that taking out my contacts in order to swim meant that I could barely distinguish people, let alone those long ropes that demarcate the swim lanes. Once I actually swam under the rope and ended up in a different lane without knowing it. The coach was so baffled as to be utterly speechless when I climbed out of the pool to head for the showers. That’s when I switched to band.
Band meant playing the flute with a bunch of other kids playing instruments and trying to create a sound approximating music. Whoever takes on band director as a career should certainly be nominated for sainthood. If they’re really up for a challenge, they work in teaching kids to march in formation while playing their instruments. I imagine what keeps many band directors going is the hope that some day, one of their students may end up playing in the USC Trojan Marching Band.
That never happened to me. But some of those summer activities did have staying power. Typing class has paid off many, many times over. Journalism and public speaking introduced me to the idea that a person actually could earn a living writing and talking, which is pretty much what I do, with a little bit of thinking thrown in.
In other words, summer activities really can lead to new skills and happy memories. But do your kids a favor: give them time to just have fun. And for heaven’s sake, wake up ten minutes early and eat breakfast at home. You don’t want your car to smell like sour milk.
The fact is, I, too, enjoyed many varying summer activities during my childhood, including classes in Journalism, Public Speaking, Typing, and German at Adams Elementary. To get to school, we carpooled with a neighborhood family. The mother drove a beat-up station wagon and the kids looked as though they had just gotten out of bed, tousled hair and sheet imprints still on their faces. When they pulled up in our driveway, and this is the truth, they were still eating breakfast.
I don’t mean noshing on a few Cheerios from a Tupperware container the way little kids do at church; when I say cereal I mean the full meal deal. By the time they got to our house what was left in the bowl was curdling milk and a few pieces of soggy Lucky Charms that had ceased to be magically delicious. My sister and I rode silently, our teeth clenched and our bodies plastered against the doors to limit the surface area that could potentially be exposed to airborne sour milk if Mrs. S drove too quickly over the railroad tracks. It seemed like so much work to take the bowls out to the car, eat, and then figure out how to dispose of the remaining cereal and milk when all this family needed to do was just wake up ten minutes earlier and eat breakfast at home.
For several years my summer activities included swimming. Based on the number of lessons I took I should be able to do much more than dog paddle from one end of the pool to the other, but sadly, swimming just didn’t take. Even as a kid I was so nearsighted that taking out my contacts in order to swim meant that I could barely distinguish people, let alone those long ropes that demarcate the swim lanes. Once I actually swam under the rope and ended up in a different lane without knowing it. The coach was so baffled as to be utterly speechless when I climbed out of the pool to head for the showers. That’s when I switched to band.
Band meant playing the flute with a bunch of other kids playing instruments and trying to create a sound approximating music. Whoever takes on band director as a career should certainly be nominated for sainthood. If they’re really up for a challenge, they work in teaching kids to march in formation while playing their instruments. I imagine what keeps many band directors going is the hope that some day, one of their students may end up playing in the USC Trojan Marching Band.
That never happened to me. But some of those summer activities did have staying power. Typing class has paid off many, many times over. Journalism and public speaking introduced me to the idea that a person actually could earn a living writing and talking, which is pretty much what I do, with a little bit of thinking thrown in.
In other words, summer activities really can lead to new skills and happy memories. But do your kids a favor: give them time to just have fun. And for heaven’s sake, wake up ten minutes early and eat breakfast at home. You don’t want your car to smell like sour milk.
1 comment:
Anne, a lovely reminiscence. Thank you for sharing. Reading it added a nice touch to a relaxing Sunday mornihng.
Marc :-)
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