A REAL Life...(what childhood once was and still should be).
I have been neglecting my blog. In days with lots of words, opinions blasted every which way, I have felt highly unmotivated to post thoughts on any digital platform. But this poem came to me yesterday in a matter of 20 minutes. I write it for parents of kids growing up in the technology age...
...don't forget to teach your children the best things about childhood.
A Real Life.
*He called it a disorder,
and he meant it.
They want outlets for
cables and cords
supported by dependable,
electric currents.
Dark bedrooms,
with chargers pumping
the glow of screens.
Stale air,
robotic noises,
and the ping of another
notification.
Not us.
We explored goldenrod fields
just beyond the property line.
We found soft stones
to skip on the reservoir.
We were on the hunt, always,
for turtles, goose eggs,
and signs of deer nearby.
It’s true.
We really did rake a pile of leaves
to jump into
before setting it on fire.
We really did set traps,
with long strings leading to steady fingers.
We hid behind the bush
to see what bird we could catch,
only to set it free.
We really did chase fireflies
before stretching out on the cold ground
under shooting stars…
competing with each other to find
Orion’s Belt.
We really did build a fort
out of weed-entangled posts
from an old,deconstructed split-rail fence.
We really did design a secret room
in the loft of the barn,
with whatever we could haul up the ladder.
Bats flapped and darted above us...
We really did get called back indoors
by a cowbell on the side porch,
where we stocked the wood pile
for winter.
We really did stay out in the cold for hours,
and ride our bikes on the frozen lake,
engulfed in the silence of the snow.
No one knew where we were.
No one tracked us.
We imagined stories and scenarios
and we lived them.
We daydreamed,
and then we tried it.
We explored in real time…
the wind, rain, snow, and sunshine
against our faces.
We smelled the dirt,
and tasted the stem of the honeysuckle flower.
No one could diagnose us
with Nature Deficit Disorder.
There were no plastic playgrounds
restricted by code.
We didn’t lock our bedroom doors
streaming Netflix in the dark.
We felt the ground under our bare feet,
and tasted blackberries off the bush.
We lived out our days
in the wonder of the earth while
our bedrooms sat vacant
waiting to give us
deep rest
and dreams of the sun rising,
awakening us again to
live.
August 16, 2020
* Richard Louv, author of Last Child in the Woods, The Nature Principle, and Our Wild Calling