Boredom, Interrupted

Your mother was never bored as a kid.  She didn’t go to day camp and only had three or four toys.  If she wasn’t building her own doll house, she was up in her room, sketching with a chunk of coal, or reading The Gutenberg Bible. She also never cried and rarely would you hear her complain.

She keeps telling you that lying on your bed next to your favorite Webkin and staring up at the ceiling with not a care in the world is the height of luxury, but it is not.

It is boring.

Life, in general, is stupid and boring, and you would like a snack.  Yep, you did just eat breakfast.  It was boring. But there’s no use complaining (although you do), because this just activates your mother’s “Self-Reliant Childhood of Three Toys” speech and also the old Lithuanian “Spjaudyk ir gaudyk,” adage, which, loosely translated, means, “If you’re so bored, why don’t you spit into the air and try to catch it with your mouth.” Which is boring, and gross.

One day as you are writhing on the couch out of boredom, your parents come along to tell you that a family activity is planned for the afternoon and it is going to be fun. The activity is bowling, which you have never tried. But you are pretty sure it is going to be boring, as all things are. You would like a snack, and to go to a festival.

When you arrive at the bowling alley, you get a pair of snappy tri-color shoes with a Velcro clasp, which are very pleasing. You are also handed an enormous colored ball with finger holes in it, and it is hard to stay focused on your boredom in the face of them.  The best part is that after you drop/roll/throw the ball down the lane, IT COMES BACK through a secret passageway, which is magic. You catch a whiff of popcorn and your snack radar starts to beep like crazy.  All of a sudden, it is taking all of your energy to remain bored.

You start to slip up, jumping up and down and squealing in excitement whenever Mama, who is an excellent and calculating bowler, gets a spare.  How does she get her ball to double-bounce off the gutter guard in such a way as to end up heading straight down the middle of the lane? On her way back to her seat, she smiles at Daddy and blows on her hand as though to cool it off. You feel bad for Daddy because he has a thumb injury.  That’s why he can’t down as many pins as Mama, who’s fingers are on fire.  It turns out that bowling is not boring, but a danger to the hands.

Your little brother is not having much luck, but at least he is not breathing on you or hanging like a monkey off your back.  By the time his ball reaches the end of its excrutiatingly slow journey down the lane, Jonas is on the plastic seating unit, doing this:

He is bored.

Bowling is a nice diversion, but as soon as you are home, you assume your old position on the couch and wonder why we never go to the San Diego zoo or buy a Costco playset.

“Are you ready to go back to school?” your mother wants to know.

No.

That would be boring.