Sarah Nigbor

It’s two days since school let out and the dreaded phrase has already reared its ugly head: “I’m booooooooored!” Imagine this being said in a whiny, loud, drawn-out voice. Yep, summer break has begun.

I never used to think so, but boredom is a luxury. I can’t imagine having nothing that I have to do. When I do take a few moments to be idle, I feel guilty. It’s hard for me to enjoy a recreational activity, such as reading or going on a walk, if I have things that need doing. A blessing in that I’m a very productive person, but a curse because I have a hard time relaxing. And I promise you, my to-do list is never close to done. It’s just a revolving door.

When I was young, I learned quickly not to utter the words “I’m bored” in the 20-mile radius of home. This could result in tedious tasks such as polishing the woodwork with oil, dusting cobwebs out of the basement rafters or picking weeds in the garden. Not that I didn’t have to do these chores, but if I dared to admit boredom, there would be more added to my list.

Being an only child, I found countless, imaginative ways to entertain myself. Our yard turned into a small city of which I was the mayor. Each tree was a house or business and of course, I had the grandest house of all: the old sugar maple next to the driveway. It had multiple trunks and big, comfy branches, perfect for climbing. I spent hours in that tree, dreaming up games among the leaves. It’s gone now, but the memories remain.

I turned garden dirt into roads and mountains for my Matchbox cars. Of course, there was a plot to each play session. I loved storytelling even then. Somehow it always involved a villain(s) and someone saving the day. My favorite car was a green Camaro with a yellow lightning bolt. I also favored the Monster trucks with the big tires, because they drove best in the sandy soil.

I spent hours reading, whether it was in a lawn chair under the maple, on a blanket in the yard or tucked into my bed with the air conditioner blasting. Books took me to places I could never imagine going, on adventures I longed to have. I tagged along with Laura Ingalls Wilder as she conquered the pioneer life. I visited New York City with the Babysitter’s Club and pretended I was a member too. I discovered a love of mysteries with the Northwoods gang and shivered over ghost stories written by my one-day professor, Michael Norman.

Whenever I decided I needed some human interaction, Grandpa could be found in the wood shop, the garden or the yard doing something interesting. It might’ve been work, but anything with Grandpa was fun to me. Especially the summer we painted the fence that ringed the yard. I was so proud that he let me help. I carefully applied the white paint and made sure not to leave drip marks. It was the first thing I’d ever painted and it was so satisfying to see it looking shipshape when it was done. I’ll never forget chatting with Grandpa as we painted in the summer sun. It’s one of my most favorite memories.

All these thoughts go through my head as the kids whine that they’re bored. I know how to fix that, I say. There are weeds in the garden, wood to pile, books to read, a shed to paint … they won’t be bored for long.