The Blessings of Free Time

"Get out of the house, and stay out until dinner!"
She never really yelled that at my brother and me, but she had to be louder than Mario or Peewee or whoever else was competing for our attention.  This was before late-night high school papers and study fests that would dominate later early evenings had taken control, this was elementary school, this was different.  We did have organized activities.  We both played sports (but only one a season), we took piano and swim lessons, we were in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and there were birthdays and parties...but there were many afternoons when school was over and nothing was scheduled, nothing was pulling that grey station wagon to another soccer field, or hard-court, or pool.  We were told to drop the controller, switch off the TV (wow, they used to actually have switches back then didn't they!), even dog-ear the page and put the book down- it's time to go outside. 

We had three places we would usually hang out.  Our first choice would be around the house.  There were myriad bushes on our property and those of our neighbor that were trimmed and spaced in such a way that they made channels and trenches in which to hide, crawl, or set up ambush. We would often be found dressed in camo and pretending to fight some alien insurgency or a Russian sneak attack.  Water guns (including the new and ultra-devastating Super Soaker) were our weapons of choice, followed closely by plastic analogs of favorite rifles and pistols with the orange plastic cap carefully removed or obscured.

When a more removed location was desired, we were off to the "Hidden Hideout:"  a small bunch of trees and bushes located in the park by our house inside of which some resident chose to illegally dump his leaves each year.  The result was that the inside was vast, hollow, and weedless, carpeted by a soft composting of oak and pecan leaves while the outside gave no indication of the perfect hideout within.  We had nailed scrap boards onto the trunk of a hack berry tree and built a rude platform in the crook of a limb from where we could view the lake, the highway, and the approach through the park.  On dry days in the fall when the leaves were recently deposited, we could easily tunnel through them making mounds with our backs as we moved, much like when Bugs Bunny would try to find his way to Albuquerque on Saturday mornings. 

But by far our favorite hangout was deemed "The Troll Cave."  A creek had been diverted by the city for some reason, and a neatly cut channel wound its way through the park yet remained largely dry through much of the year (even during light rain storms).  When it cut between a grove of Pecan trees, there was a slight lifting of the terrain, and the creek had cut a few feet deeper into the earth.  This was all the start we needed.  We dug the bottom out deeper with smuggled garden spades and metal pipe, expanded the back and sides, and then we began the roof.  Saving and scouring, we hoarded 2X4s and plywood until we spanned the expanse with a sturdy wooden roof, covered it with the earth we continuously dug from the bottom of the trench, and then topped the structure off with living green turf.  We built a small trapdoor on one side that we camouflaged with twigs and dead grass, we cut shelves in the earthen walls to hold our childhood treasures, and we had a weapon or two stockpiled for the treacherous alien or straggling Russian. 

Our voyages that combined imagination with reality, that stoked our creativity, that provided novel problems to solve requiring ingenuity and skill- these voyages occurred almost daily.  We were observed from a distance, allowed to believe that there was total solitude, and encouraged -no, ordered- to leave the electronics, the novels, the sketch pads, and all the trappings of the typical, late 20th century child behind.  Our minds invented new worlds and our hands built them.  I've talked with her about those times she'd tell us to get out.  About why she did it.  About how (in this world) I could possibly do it with my own children.  I can't think of anything in my childhood more invaluable than those times.  I think about the 21st Century skill students need most when competing across an ever flatter and equal playing field.  I wonder if creativity is really engendered during the club soccer game, the ballet practice, or the twenty minutes of car ride in between. I wonder how two hours of homework for a sixth grader could possibly do more for that person's critical thinking development than a couple of hours trying to construct a tree house or an underground fort.  Do we want our child to be really good at taking tests and playing an organized sport, or do we want him to be able to invent his own sport or to be able to challenge himself? Surely, like everything, it is a combination of all...but there is one thing for sure.  I'll be telling him to get out of the house at times, at least until dinner is ready.