Friday, September 15, 2000
A busyness dropout
Why one family will skip the lessons and sports and start staying home
By CINDY KRANZ
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Soccer. Gymnastics. Ballet. Children's theater.
“Gotta catch 'em all,”as Pokemon proclaims.
Or so I thought.
If I live in a big city, I reasoned that I should take advantage of all there is to offer for kids. And that's how we became an overscheduled family.
One scenario went like this — racing from work, picking up my daughter from school, changing into soccer clothes in the school bathroom, eating Cheetos in the car to appease our rumbling stomachs until dinner.
As fall sign-up season approached, I foraged the community for information about swimming lessons, gymnastics, soccer, ballet, children's theater performances. It wasn't uncommon for us to run to two to three activities a week. In my mind and on paper, I had already juggled the schedules.
She just wants to have fun
So, when I asked my 6-year-old daughter, Lindsey, what activities she wanted to sign up for, I wasn't prepared for her answer.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“Nothing. I just want to stay home and play games.”
I should have seen it coming.
Besides organized activities, we're always planning outings on weekends to the zoo, to Kings Island, to anywhere but home. We remain mesmerized by the big city. Occasionally my daughter said, “I don't want to go. I just want to stay home and play with my toys. I just want to stay home and play with Tatum (her best friend two doors down).
“How could she pass up a trip to the zoo?” my husband wondered.
“Every day of her life she has to get up, get dressed and go somewhere — day care, school, church, dance class,” I said. “When does she get a chance to just veg out at home?”
The simple life
As I listened to my daughter tell me in very simple terms that enough was enough, I thought about the things that made my own childhood so memorable.
I grew up on a farm near Watertown, S.D. How wonderful it would be for her to experience that life, when things were simpler. Why do I think my child has to have a better life, more toys, more opportunities than I had — especially when I didn't have it so bad?
Growing up in the '50s and '60s on a farm wasn't always perfect, but if I could turn back time, I could steal a few nuggets that would enrich my city kid's life as much as any ballet lesson:
• Party lines. We had eight families on our telephone line, so when you picked up the phone, you couldn't dial if someone else was talking. Talk about your call waiting! And once you did get through, you could never reveal too many secrets in case someone was “rubbering” in on our conversation. At least one good thing came out of that oddity. My mom once got a recipe from someone who had copied it while “rubbering” on the phone. The “rubberer” missed the name of the recipe, so she dubbed it “Telephone Bars.” They are the best!
• Cattle rage. What fun we had “driving” our cattle 5 miles to our south farm in the summer and home again in the fall. Actually, they pretty much drove themselves, and we followed. It always amazed me how the lead cow knew where to turn. And how did the lead cow know she was the lead cow? As motorists came upon this mini cattle drive on a county road, they patiently waited or carefully passed. Now, we have road rage.
• Imagination. Those were frugal days, and there were fewer things to want. We used our imaginations. My sister and I spent hours making paper doll clothes from old wallpaper books. And we cut comic strip characters out of the newspaper and carefully slipped them into envelopes marked “Brenda Starr,” “Winnie Winkle,” and “Dick Tracy.” Color comics were prized and hoarded. Black and white comics were floated and destroyed in a little boat on a pond formed by heavy rains in our yard.
• Tuesday night movies. In Kranzburg, S.D., the small town founded by my great-grandfather and his three brothers, we'd have movies every Tuesday night in the summer. Someone got the bright idea to nail a movie screen to a tree and put a projector on the gravel road. People sat in their cars, hanging their heads out the windows so they could hear Ma and Pa Kettle.
• The great outdoors. There were no high-tech video or computer games. Instead, we went outside and played “Starlight, moonlight, hope to see a ghost tonight,” a game we played by yard light so we could scream and scare the beejeebers out of each other. And then there was “Ante Aye Over,” throwing a tennis ball over the garage, catching it and running around to ambush the players on the other side with the ball. Fun, except for the time my brother dipped the ball in a cow pie.
• Sundays. Back then, Sundays were truly the Lord's day, a day of rest. The stores were closed. There were no malls. It was a day for Mass, a big noon meal, visiting grandparents, playing Pinochle and Monopoly, naps, reading the Sunday paper, watching Meet the Press and talking politics. Sunday afternoons in the summer always held the promise of a hot fudge sundae in town after a drive around the countryside. Now, we go to malls on Sunday, catch up on a week's worth of laundry and have forgotten how to play Pinochle.
Fun at home
We can't turn back the clock to my childhood, but our family can take some cues from those simpler times.
Lindsey eventually decided on one activity that she enthusiastically embraced — Brownies. I wholeheartedly endorse enrichment activities for children, but for now, I'm planning family game nights and a messy day where she and her friends can get out every crumb of Play-Doh, every drop of fingerpaint, every pinch of glitter and create a masterpiece or create havoc. While they're doing that, I'll bake Telephone Bars.
It was my 6-year-old who helped me see the need for putting the brakes on all the busyness of her childhood and the importance of spending more time creating memories that she'll cherish. Memories that come from spending time as a family — at home.
Cindy Kranz is the family/parenting reporter at The Enquirer. She is writing a story on the overscheduled family and would like to hear from other families who are overscheduled and decided to put the brakes on all the busyness. Write her at The Enquirer, 312 Elm St., Cincinnati 45202; fax 768-8330 or e-mail her at ckranz@enquirer.com.
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