EDITOR’S NOTE: This story originally appeared in Heart of Ohio Magazine in 2013. It is being republished through a cooperative agreement with Richland Source. To read more stories on Heart of Ohio Magazine log on at www.heartofohiomagazine.com.
On the last day of school, a child tumbled from the bus, a paper grocery sack under one arm. It held the broken pencils, worn erasers, and crumpled spelling tests from a now-clean desk back at school. The other arm held a scuffed-up book bag and a droopy marigold planted in a paper cup.
The last day of school was usually hot, children’s faces flushed and hair wet and wild. But stretched across each face was the biggest grin of the year; a smile that said “summer, here I come!”
My own childhood summers found me building forts and clearing bike trails through the woods behind our Connecticut home. We hunted salamanders and played Monopoly on a quilt in the side yard for hours. At age 12, I organized a backyard day camp with a friend for the neighbor kids and named it “Jolly Time.” We planned crafts, hikes and snacks and netted maybe $8 that summer. The crown jewel of my summer was two weeks at Girl Scout camp in August. Otherwise, Mom expected us to create our own fun.
My own children played plenty of soccer and baseball and packed off to camp countless times. Some scheduling was unavoidable. But it seems the best summer days are those left to children’s imaginations.
Our four collected and traded baseball cards for hours in the summer. They read chapter books in the hammock and planted a kid-designed garden around our deck. They squealed and chased fireflies through the deepening dusk.
My big boys first learned to cut grass in wobbly rows and practiced shooting hoops on the drive. They played whiffle ball for hours out front and camped in the backyard. My little boys needed baths every night to wash away the sweat and grit from long, hot days of play.
No mistake, there was tension in the summer air. The food, the dirty dishes, unfinished chores, slamming doors, bloodied knees and frequent bickering all marked summers in our house. But I tried to let the kids be kids.
They learned creativity by less-structured summer days. The TV wasn’t on often and computer games were on the distant horizon. And what became our treasured vacation in northern Michigan each July taught our kids that wholesome fun can be found without amusement parks, electronics, and structured activities.
Motherhood has taught me the value of unhurried living: children won’t be rushed. It takes time and focus to listen to their small voices. If I was too busy to bend down and enter their world, speak in gentle tones, or hold them close every single day, their spirits suffered. When I wearied of teaching manners and respect, answering endless questions, singing with Wee Worship tapes, and reading the same story books, I’d gather the kids to make sandwiches and head to a pool or park. Spontaneity is the best cure for summer monotony.
And so it is in the rhythm of a child’s summer. While drawing with chalk on the driveway or running through the sprinkler, my children found autonomy in slow summer days. Resourcefulness is born of freedom and yes, a little boredom at times. They begin to discover who they are and what they can do apart from a calendar.
Odd as it seems, children learn business savvy running a lemonade stand and social skills in a fort-building project. They grow in generosity sharing watermelon with a neighbor. A girl gains a sense of wonder on an afternoon in the woods. A strong boy suddenly feels very small flying a kite in a stiff breeze.
And given the chance, they learn they won’t always win in life as they play whiffle ball with the big kids in the deepening dusk.
Barb Haller writes from her home in Delaware. Grass has grown over home plate in the front yard, but this summer she and her husband Bill will welcome two new grandsons, who might someday play whiffle ball out front. Follow her blog at www.barbhaller.blogspot.com.
