MARY ANN FITZMORRIS

Fighting the childhood boredom blues All of you parents who feel guilty about having only one child, relax. Siblings don’t want to play with each other anyway. The truth is painful but obvious as I wait to hear whether the male cousins my son has invited are coming. This is of particular interest to me today, since I need to decide whether or not my daughter accepts an invitation to play with a friend. I didn’t immediately respond to the offer or tell my daughter, because she had been with the same friend the very day before. And if she goes somewhere, I have to have someone for him. Besides, I naively thought just the three of us might spend one of the waning days of summer together. When my son announced he had called his cousins, I was happy his younger sister had the reserve opportunity available. It is unthinkable for one child to have someone to play with, and the other to be…uh…well… alone. Being alone is an extremely frightening thing for American children in this millennium. They must actually think of something to do with themselves. It is particularly difficult for my progeny, because their exposure to electronic devices such as television and computer is absolutely archaic. These freaks of nurture have been existing for years now without the assistance of Nintendo and Gameboy! With reading as out of the question as it is, there is little left for them to do but fight. And fight, they do. This, too, is a legitimate activity recognized by the universal parental code according to the law of even stevens. It is also entertaining. But only for the sparring partners. Children of yore did not have much time to fight. After their chores, they would engage in games, maybe even marbles! But then children of yore regularly read, so it is fruitless to compare our kids to earlier counterparts who toiled in such a deprived, bleak, battery-poor daily existence. Conversely, children of the millennial generation even have a live-in social secretary, also known as Mom. Just last weekend my son awoke with the idea of who he might have over. I told him no, until my daughter and a friend ran up to me outside church with matching pleading expressions. Immediately I tried to recall who my son had mentioned, and in the process remembered he had a scout meeting that afternoon. Whew! I allowed my daughter to leave with her friend. The minute she turned her back to us, my son’s interrogation began. “Where is she going? You told me I couldn’t have anyone over,” he grilled. I reminded him of his scout meeting that afternoon. “That’s four hours from now. Can’t I pick someone up on the way home?” he persisted. We were a little embarrassed to arrive at the boy’s house at 10:30 a.m. Instead of being offended by such an intrusion, the young man’s parents were thrilled, because it solved a problem for them. The boy’s twin brother was on the phone making plans for the day with his pal, who had called 17 times the day before. We had saved those boys from the fate of having to spend the day, uh…together. That evening I went to pick up my daughter. Her friend’s older sister was concerned that she had no one over. The young lady began to urge her mother to reconcile this injustice, and nearly succeeded in badgering the woman into submission when she realized I was there to pick up my daughter. Had the older one scored a playmate, the younger one would have begun protesting as soon as I drove my daughter away from the house. This cycle is familiar to all parents who foolishly thought they had resident playmates for their kids. When my daughter got into the car, I confessed that my son’s pal was sleeping over. That disclosure was OK since her friend was coming over again in the morning. My kids entertained their buddies the entire day, and both playmates left about the same time. My son walked back into the house after waving goodbye to his friend. Immediately he picked up the phone. “Time to call the cousins.” MARY ANN FITZMORRIS writes this column regularly for L’Observateur.