I'm Bored . . .

I’m Bored . . .

I hear the phrase “I’m Bored!” more and more from adults and it makes me wonder. My “wondering” has led to this blog! (grin)

When I was a child, our family opted out of owning a television for several reasons I won’t go into at this moment. Because of that choice, my sister, brothers, and I became avid readers, actors, artists, and craftsmen.

I was known by name at the local library, and by the time I was a teenager, I knew more about the location of books than the librarians knew. I spent a lot of time at that beautiful edifice, overlooking Cane River, devouring books. Because of the amount of books I read, I taught myself to speed read, which came in handy in college. Our shelves at home were always lined with books, and each night my dad would take down the Bible and a story book to ready before family prayer. Uncle Remus was my all-time favorite, and I can still see Brer Fox and the Tar Baby in conversation. We would always beg, “Just one more, Dad!”

Our imaginations were out of this world, and we would spend hours being someone else. We also enjoyed imitating “dogs” and would grab the World Book Encyclopedia, Volume D for Dog, and choose the dog we would portray for that moment. The old brown, naugahyde couch became a race car, many a time, for my brother and me. We would lay with our heads at opposite ends of the couch and put our feet together. The other’s foot served as a gas and brake pedal, and away we would go, traveling great distances!

Since my dad was an artist, we came by art naturally. Dad would stop by the local newspaper office and pick up the ends of paper rolls for us to use as our canvases. We would spend hours making crayon reliefs from the stone embossed tiles on the kitchen floor and have contest to see who could draw the best. I loved when it rained at school. The teacher would let us stay indoors for recess and give us a big, clean sheet of paper on which to create a masterpiece. I’d ponder the possibilities for my subject and take extra care to do it right the first time since we were only allow on piece. One little boy, named “Junior”, would always ask me to draw stars on his paper. I couldn’t believe that he didn’t know how to draw the celestial bodies. Didn’t everyone?

I could write a whole discourse on our ability to build. My dad had a woodworking shop and we had free run of it for the most part. My oldest brother was allowed to use the power tools and my youngest brother and I could use the manual ones. We were craftsmen at building rubber-band guns for which we always had plenty of ammunition. Tree houses were also a favorite pastime in addition to rope swings in the trees and mud adobes. At Christmas, we became interior designers and tree surgeons.

Needless to say, there was never a lack of sometime to do around the TV-deficit Larpenter house. In spite of that fact, one day, when I was around 5 or 6 years of age, boredom struck! Mother recalls the incident vividly. She was sitting at the sewing machine, which was adjacent to the afore mentioned couch, making something for one of us to wear. Suddenly, a dirty-blond haired girl came bursting through the kitchen door, plopped herself on the brown naugahyde couch and cried out, “Ain’t nuttin’ to do!” My mother, taken back by the sudden outburst, asked, “What did you say?” Again I cried, “Ain’t nuttin’ to do!” Mother’s first instinct was to pop my little, fat behind, but got too tickled to swat. I wish I could say that was the first and last time I was bored, but I’m sure there were other occasions. I just can’t recall them.

A friend of mine once told me of how she reacted when her teenage son and daughter complained of being bored. Being a homeschooler, she always had extra notebooks around and gave each of her children one. She then gave them the assignment to write one-thousand things they could do to keep from being bored. This task took quite some time, and never again did they complain of being bored.

Now that I have a husband, two daughters, a menagerie of animals, a house, and a business, I can truly say that I never get bored. I have enough work and projects to keep me occupied for at least 50 years.

I’m sometimes worried when I hear adults use the phrase, “I bored!” Boredom can be dangerous in the life of an adult. It can lead down paths of depression and to choices that bring heartbreak and destruction if left to linger and grow. One of the secrets to managing boredom is to get your mind off of yourself and think of others. Write someone a letter. Offer to baby-sit for a tired mom who needs a little break. Bake someone a cake or cookies. Go to the nursing home and listen to the many lonely people who are often prisoners to their worn-out bodies.

If after trying all of my suggestions and you’re still bored, come help me clean this house! I can assure you the word “Bored” will become one of those lye soap words you will refuse to let passed from your lips! (Grin)