Summertime

One of my most precious joys of summertime is simply watching my girls play.  Yes, play.  Without the constant rushing around and the expectation of being somewhere at a definite time, they have the opportunity to think, create, and imagine without time restraints.  They can become different people and their toys can take on new identities.   

Without a doubt, playing is what I remember most about being a little girl.  Not necessarily the costly vacations to the beach, the trips to swim in the community pool, or even the ways my parents may have tried to fill our days with entertainment, but the hours I spent just playing—independently and with friends.

“It is a happy talent to know how to play.”

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I recall spending vast amounts of time playing in my own room with my most cherished toys, my Cabbage Patch dolls, pretending they were my own little babies. I fed them, changed their "soiled" diapers and even put them down for naps.  I remember driving Barbie and Ken around in their pink Corvette, pausing every once in a while for a quick dip in the Barbie pool or a shopping trip to the mall. 

I can call to mind the numerous hours I spent downstairs in our basement playing school, and of course, being the teacher.  An unused, forgotten ping pong table, turned on its side, functioned as my chalkboard.  An old brown desk, purchased at a neighborhood garage sale, provided a place for me to survey my students from the front of the "classroom".  And stacks of surplus worksheets given to me by my elementary school teachers served as the required work for the day.

“Play gives children a chance to practice what they are learning....They have to play with
what they know to be true in order to find out more, and then they can use what they
learn in new forms of play.”

--Fred Rogers of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

I’ll probably never forget all the times I hauled my child-sized furniture from the basement, placed it under the giant Mimosa tree in my backyard, and imagined I had a home of my very own.  Each branch stretched downward, creating a wall, dividing the house into separate rooms.  I would spend hours at hand pretending to be a mother who took care of her family and the place they lived.

I can recall riding my pink Huffy bike, pedaling up and down our steep neighborhood hill all day long or racing my friends until the street light came on, reminding us all the day was done.  On other days I was a bus driver and my bicycle a bus.  I made frequent stops at each of my neighbor’s driveways waiting for passengers to board so I could transport them to school.

I recollect constant, impromptu games of kickball in my backyard, since we had the largest and flattest piece of property in the subdivision.  I also seem to remember countless victories in which the girls triumphed over the boys—at least that's how it's replayed in my mind now.  J

Each year, the summer was guaranteed to provide times of rest, times of relaxation, and times to just be a kid.  What do kids do best?  Play!  It’s what they’re notorious for, it’s how they acquire information, and it’s what they’ll remember well into adulthood.

“My childhood may be over, but that doesn't mean playtime is.”

So, as each long, blistering day of summer goes by, I am perfectly content not to have organized plans.  I want my girls to experience childhood at its fullest—playing, imagining, and creating pretend worlds and pretend situations which will reside within them long after the summertime has passed.  And who knows?  On any given day, you may find me asking them, “Can I play?”