“Go play outside until the sun sets.” This was my mom’s summertime mantra during my childhood in the 1980s and ’90s. Now, as a mother myself, I understand exactly why she felt that way.
Back then, we didn’t have the distractions of modern electronics—no Snapchat or Fortnite to occupy our time. Our TV choices were limited to just three fuzzy channels, and our gaming experience revolved around the original Nintendo with a mere two games: Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt. With three siblings and one wired controller, our gaming sessions were pretty short-lived.
With no electronic babysitters, we had two choices: play inside or outside. And trust me, there was no chance my mom would let us lounge indoors for three months straight. After breakfast, we’d rush outside to make mud pies beneath our treehouse, romp with our dog, and ride our bikes. We’d gather dandelions, swing from the tire swing, and engage in epic stick battles.
Living in the countryside, a good fifteen minutes from town, there were no neighborhoods filled with children to play with—just winding gravel roads, fields, and endless sky. Occasionally, a neighbor kid would wander over for a visit.
While we were outside, my mom would be busy with household chores, chatting on a corded phone that stretched as far as it could, preparing lunch, folding laundry, and sometimes sneaking in time to read a book. Meanwhile, my siblings and I were lost in our imaginative adventures, creating plays and getting gloriously dirty.
On sweltering days, my mom would set up the sprinkler, and we’d leap through the arcs of water, quenching our thirst straight from the stream. If storms rolled in and we were stuck inside, we got creative, finding ways to eavesdrop on her phone calls or playing with Barbies and Batman. We would write stories, create with our colorful Legos, and hold “Manners School” sessions in the kitchen—where I was the head instructor. Inspired by my dad’s favorite film, Tombstone, we’d pretend to be bartenders, sliding glasses of juice across the counter and speaking in our best gruff voices.
Boredom was not an option; uttering the “b-word” meant chores awaited us, like washing dishes or sweeping floors. If we were particularly sassy, we’d even find ourselves hanging laundry outside to dry, only to retrieve it later.
Those were the golden days.
Now, as a mother of four, summer is fast approaching, and I’m determined to recreate that nostalgic experience for my kids. With countless local summer camps and events vying for our attention, I’m opting out.
I refuse to spend thousands just to have my kids craft glitter projects or perform in a concert. With four kids of different ages, coordinating schedules would mean endless driving in the heat with whiny, hungry children in tow.
What about trips to the zoo, amusement parks, or museums? No thank you—more heat, more expense, and throngs of other families. Baseball? Not interested. I’d much rather enjoy Netflix and a glass of wine at the end of the day than spend it at a ball field.
I’m reclaiming summer, both for my sanity and for my kids’ happiness. Hello, 1980s summer! I envision myself lounging in a lawn chair, flipping through a magazine while my kids run through a nostalgic sprinkler. When they get thirsty, I’ll hand them fruity popsicles.
For creativity, they can host concerts in the basement with the old Halloween costumes we have or write plays. They can read, play board games, build blanket forts, or engage in epic Lego constructions. With popsicle molds at their disposal, they can get creative in the kitchen. And let’s not forget the joy of bubble-making!
I’m all in for baking cookies, swimming, having friends over, and catching fireflies before bedtime. My husband can fire up the grill, and we’ll enjoy popcorn during movie nights. All those gifts that have been sitting on the shelf since Christmas? They’re coming out to play.
And the local library? It’s a treasure trove of free entertainment. The kids can check out a stack of books and movies for the week. Plus, those cheap kid movie sessions at local theaters are a great option. On stormy days or during heat waves, they can binge-watch their favorite shows or dive into a Minecraft marathon.
If they dare complain about being bored, I have a long list of chores ready for them to tackle. Just like my mom, I won’t entertain any whining.
There’s a world of possibilities ahead—none of which require taking out a loan or exhausting myself. I refuse to dread this summer. I want to create lasting family memories rather than being caught up in a chaotic schedule that leaves us all drained.
Call me old-fashioned; I take it as a compliment. My childhood taught me that there’s magic in the everyday moments. Our 1980s-inspired summer will be a breath of fresh air, and I can’t wait to dive in!
Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s childhood summers in the 1980s and her desire to recreate that carefree, imaginative experience for her own children. Rejecting modern camps and activities in favor of outdoor play, creativity, and family bonding, she aims to instill a sense of nostalgia and joy without the pressures of a hectic schedule.
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