kids

I don’t know why kids today don’t sleep out in the backyard like we used to in the late 50’s and early 60’s.  That was the highlight of the week, but considering that our weeks didn’t contain any organized sports, video games, cable or even our own choice of programs on the TV, I guess it’s easy to see why building a tent out of blankets in the backyard was the best thing in the world.  So after getting fed up with Patrick living in front of his TV, I decided it was high time I force my son to sleep outside.  He was already 10 and other than putting up a tent to play in during the day, he’d never spent the whole night in our backyard.  I rounded up two neighborhood friends of his, received parental permission and started setting up.  The three boys were so excited.  Each one had their own flashlight, sleeping bag and pillow, plus this was an actual tent, not a bunch of blankets close-pinned to the clothesline, that you get all tangled up in during the night when the boogieman is chasing you.  But I digress.    After much shuffling around, the boys finally claimed their own territory in the tent, and when the sky was dark and the stars came into sight, they scrambled into their sleeping bags all ready for spooky stories by flashlight.  I popped some corn in the kitchen and we settled down in our cozy little world.  We went around the group, each one telling a story, real, imagined, scary or silly.  We laughed and ate and scared ourselves, thought we heard noises outside, laughed some more and ate some more.  I was finally showing my son what a good time could be had for no money, no technology and just some imagination.  Eventually, the air outside the tent became cool and damp, which meant it was time for my husband and I to change places.  Once I was finally tucked in my own warm bed, my chocolate Lab next to me keeping me warm, I felt the satisfaction of a job well done, a lesson learned and a rite of passage unfolding in the backyard.  I was almost asleep when all of a sudden there were three screaming boys scrambling up the staircase, piling into my son’s bedroom, who slammed the door shut behind them.  I jumped out of bed and ran in there, only to find them hiding under the covers and not at all ready to sleep.  I heard a loud pounding downstairs and left to investigate.  My husband was outside the door wall, having been locked out in the boys’ haste to get inside.  Unlocking the door, I asked him what had happened. “I don’t know.  One minute I was telling them a scary story, and the next thing I knew, they were running into the house.  I can’t believe they locked me out!” We both could hear the boys upstairs jumping around and yelling, the dog was barking and I knew sleep wasn’t going to come for a while.   I turned back to look at my husband, who said, “It’s really nice out there.  I’m going to go back out and sleep”. My look convinced him otherwise.