Play

“The trouble with the world today is people don’t play like they used to,” the grizzled old man said to me as we waited for our separate lunch orders at the small deli up the street from me.

“How do you mean?” I asked, expecting a rant against television, videogames, and all that rot that is normally ranted against by someone who think having fun should involve hours of back breaking labor.

“I grew up in southern Illinois, a small rural town and we knew how to play as kids. We’d play hide and go seek until nightfall all throughout the summer. Or baseball when I was older. My friends and I would also go off to the river. We’d swim, eat sandwiches, goof off a lot.”

I nodded. I had a similar childhood. My summers were spent at home on Canyon Ferry Lake in Helena, Montana. I recall playing yard games with the neighbor’s grandchildren. We’d play tag, Red Light, Green Light, Simon Says, and all sorts of other games. We’d do it well past nightfall. Summer also meant fires on the beach roasting marshmallows. The fires weren’t casual things. We’d get down there early in the day, cutting willows for roasting skewers, gathering wood, setting up the fire ring and arranging the seating.

The fire was always large, or seemed large to me in my youth. Roasting marshmallows was a dangerous thing – for the marshmallow as it would most likely burst into flame. With a marshmallow fully alit, I would run down to the lake to douse it. I really can’t give a good explanation as to why I would do such things, I just did.

Around the fire would be family and friends. There always seemed to be a cousin around. That was one of the signs of summer for me. Living on the lake, all the family would come to our house to enjoy summer weekends. The lake itself offered countless hours of entertainment, whether it was swimming, boating, skiing or just floating on an inner tube.

The grizzled old man compared his childhood with his grandkids. “My son has to take them to scheduled baseball games. What is wrong with a pick-up game? If the kids have a moment of unscheduled activity, they are bored stiff. It isn’t that they want to watch TV, they don’t. But they don’t know what to do with unorganized time.”

I understood his point and understood what he was saying about knowing how to play. It isn’t the type of activity that is bothersome. It is about being self-sufficient enough to entertain yourself. While I came from a large family, I was the youngest, so as I grew up, my brothers and sisters left home. My summers in my adolescence were lonely. While everyone else I went to school with were in town going to parties, forming nascent romances, I was still at the lake. The neighbor’s grand kids were older than me and didn’t care to play those childish games like they once did.

I kept myself occupied though. I dove into reading books and keeping in contact with a few friends from school as best I could.

I learned how to entertain myself. I learned about the essence of imagination. What I missed in socialization, I more than made up in developing daydreams and fantasies. I am not going to lie and say I was never bored, but it was rare. There was always someplace I could walk to. Walk the mile to Jo Bonner Park at the base of Magpie Bay, or walk two miles over to Kim’s Marina and Riley’s Bar to play video games. Sometimes I’d just walk up Magpie Gulch to see how far I could get before tiring out. To me it was pure exploration.

The old man got his order and said bye to me. I watched him and wondered if he still played. I could see him enjoying a game of checkers or chess. He seemed to be the type that would spontaneously throw a few sodas in a bag with a peanut butter sandwich and drive a few hours to see the World’s Largest Ball of Earwax or some other bizarreness, just because.

I often lament what my childhood could have been. I could have been one of those city kids with lots of friends around all the time. If that had happened though, how would I have turned out? I know a lot of people now who always have to be doing something. They feel out of sorts with unorganized time. I revel in it. They say they are bored, I say I am set free. Two hours where I am not required to do anything or think about any particular thing is two hours I can slip into my fantasy world: a world that calls out to be explored.

When I was on my own in Chicago for the first time, I didn’t have anything. I lived in a tiny studio apartment, with no furniture, no TV, only the radio for entertainment. I had countless hours of free time and I explored. There was always someplace to walk to, always somewhere to go to see something new. Living without a car, without friends nearby, with only myself for company, I was able to draw upon the lessons of my childhood and the lessons of learning how to play.

Play teaches out how to interact with other people. That is probably the most important part of playing. We learn to share, we learn to compromise, and we learn how to lose and win gracefully. These are the things coaches of team sports stress. What is forgotten, the hidden lesson of learning to play, is learning how to keep yourself entertained. The game you play isn’t important. It is just a vehicle for the imagination. Take two people of the same culture, strand them together with a few small stones, cups, and knick-knacks and if they grew up knowing how to play, they won’t be bored. Those trinkets will be transformed magically into a new game. Or the area in which they are stranded will be thoroughly investigated and explored.

I know how to play. I enjoy playing. From board games and yard games to video games and role-playing games, there is never a reason to be bored. In college, my friends and I would sometimes be lounging, hanging out wondering what we should do. It wouldn’t take long before at the very least, we’d go on a quest of some sort. To those who know how to play, unorganized time is a secret blessing.