Determined to be bored

While on a long drive recently, Lisa told me what I already knew--having nine children go before her, growing up with three younger siblings, having thirteen younger cousins, and remembering my own childhood better than may actually be healthy--

"I'm bored."

I often make up games to help with seven-year-old-boredom (which strikes at the most inconvenient moments). One of our most recent games came during a lively varsity basketball game. To relieve that boredom we silently counted the number of times the ball touched the floor between whistles. Then, when the whistle blew, we compared numbers to see if we counted the same. A couple of pre-teen boys sitting nearby even joined in the game after about the third whistle. (You may be interested to know that the average number of ball-bounces between whistles is about 25.)

On this particular trip Lisa wasn't so easily entertained. I turned the radio to a classical station (partly for my enjoyment, partly for her educational benefit, partly for the game) and told her to close her eyes and tell me what she imagined. She was reluctant.

"I can't close my eyes," she said.

"Sure you can," I countered, "just shut them."

"But they won't close," she insisted.

"OK, then cover them with your hands," I said and then asked, "Are they covered?"

She sighed and reluctantly admitted, "Yes."

Victorious I said, "Good, now listen and imagine what the music is describing. Tell me, what do you see?"

She answered, "My hands."