One thing I cherished about my childhood was its frequent sense of delicious boredom.
I was a failure at most of the activities that middle-class children today are practically required to take part in: organized sports, summer camp, and so forth. I was good at music, and greatly enjoyed music lessons, but otherwise I was allowed a great deal of time to entertain myself as best I could.
At that time, television and its limited number of channels was the only electronic entertainment. My parents tried to limit television watching, and though I often succeeded in surpassing the limit, I got tired of it past a certain point.
So off I went with my neighborhood friends (with whom, it must be said, I am no longer in touch. It was somewhat evident to me then, and it is completely clear to me now that what we had most in common was age and proximity; by my teen years we had drifted far apart). We rode bicycles in between neighbors' houses; more than once did I smash my orthodonture on a tree branch - that is what I most remember. We played a variation of tag called 'chase' that involved hiding places and a much larger play area, which included neighbors' garages and all sorts of other places where the neighborhood children of today would never be allowed to roam; this was my favorite game. We played board games, inevitably disrupted by arguments.
None of our activities were very edifying or offered lasting pleasure, as they were usually marred by senseless arguments (these were not limited to our sedentary games) which, when I did not provoke them outright, I took perverse pleasure in prolonging. I wish I could say I benefited from the 'socialization' that group play is touted as offering; instead I increasingly got the sense that group activities were intrinsically unrewarding - for better or for worse, this feeling has remained with me to this day, though at least it has somewhat diminished, fortunately.
In the summers I would spend three weeks with my mother and sister on my grandparents' farm in Mississippi. I had no playmates apart from my sister and a relative who was a year older. As my perverse delight in sabotaging interactions with other children had by then already become habitual, I was left to my own devices a great deal. The television set could pick up precisely one station. So I devised my own entertainments, which included using solar power to incinerate fire ants and making crude toy artillery pieces from firecrackers, small sections of metal pipe, and marbles; it must mean something that I have chosen to mention those two pursuits first, though I can certainly recall other ones.
I had no lasting retreat from the external world. Like it or not, I had no barrier between it and whatever sense of self I then possessed. I could leave the world whenever I wished, but I always had to return. Since then, I have become reconciled, however imperfectly, to the notion that the world outside myself is my reference point.
It is no exaggeration to say that children of today are for the most part spared the vexing problem of boredom, as they are offered so many easy ways to escape it that were unavailable to my generation. Considering all the trouble I went through to grapple with my own boredom and sense of disconnection with others, I could be envious, or just as easily, contemptuous. If I am actually contemptuous, it is not of the children who are endlessly sedated by automobile DVD players and hand-held electronic devices. I do feel badly for children, in that most of them will never be allowed truly to be alone. In the emptiness and seeming futility of boredom there is sublimity, which could lead to wisdom, though certainly not as a matter of course. I hope it is not as terrible as I believe it is that we are denying children the chance to discover this.
I was a failure at most of the activities that middle-class children today are practically required to take part in: organized sports, summer camp, and so forth. I was good at music, and greatly enjoyed music lessons, but otherwise I was allowed a great deal of time to entertain myself as best I could.
At that time, television and its limited number of channels was the only electronic entertainment. My parents tried to limit television watching, and though I often succeeded in surpassing the limit, I got tired of it past a certain point.
So off I went with my neighborhood friends (with whom, it must be said, I am no longer in touch. It was somewhat evident to me then, and it is completely clear to me now that what we had most in common was age and proximity; by my teen years we had drifted far apart). We rode bicycles in between neighbors' houses; more than once did I smash my orthodonture on a tree branch - that is what I most remember. We played a variation of tag called 'chase' that involved hiding places and a much larger play area, which included neighbors' garages and all sorts of other places where the neighborhood children of today would never be allowed to roam; this was my favorite game. We played board games, inevitably disrupted by arguments.
None of our activities were very edifying or offered lasting pleasure, as they were usually marred by senseless arguments (these were not limited to our sedentary games) which, when I did not provoke them outright, I took perverse pleasure in prolonging. I wish I could say I benefited from the 'socialization' that group play is touted as offering; instead I increasingly got the sense that group activities were intrinsically unrewarding - for better or for worse, this feeling has remained with me to this day, though at least it has somewhat diminished, fortunately.
In the summers I would spend three weeks with my mother and sister on my grandparents' farm in Mississippi. I had no playmates apart from my sister and a relative who was a year older. As my perverse delight in sabotaging interactions with other children had by then already become habitual, I was left to my own devices a great deal. The television set could pick up precisely one station. So I devised my own entertainments, which included using solar power to incinerate fire ants and making crude toy artillery pieces from firecrackers, small sections of metal pipe, and marbles; it must mean something that I have chosen to mention those two pursuits first, though I can certainly recall other ones.
I had no lasting retreat from the external world. Like it or not, I had no barrier between it and whatever sense of self I then possessed. I could leave the world whenever I wished, but I always had to return. Since then, I have become reconciled, however imperfectly, to the notion that the world outside myself is my reference point.
It is no exaggeration to say that children of today are for the most part spared the vexing problem of boredom, as they are offered so many easy ways to escape it that were unavailable to my generation. Considering all the trouble I went through to grapple with my own boredom and sense of disconnection with others, I could be envious, or just as easily, contemptuous. If I am actually contemptuous, it is not of the children who are endlessly sedated by automobile DVD players and hand-held electronic devices. I do feel badly for children, in that most of them will never be allowed truly to be alone. In the emptiness and seeming futility of boredom there is sublimity, which could lead to wisdom, though certainly not as a matter of course. I hope it is not as terrible as I believe it is that we are denying children the chance to discover this.
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