It's summer. The Mediterranean is a sheet of blue turquoise, streaked with azure and aqua. The jacarandas swell with soft purple blossoms, the morning breezes are scented with jasmine and lemon. Birds fill the warm air with their trills, tiny grey lizards scurry in and out of the rock wall that surrounds our house, and the terraced gardens bloom with bougainvillea and wild morning glories. Inside the house, my kids are bored.
I'm not bored. I got up at 6:30 and baked a dozen apple oat-bran muffins and a loaf of banana bread. I've put on a wash, swum 500 meters, cleaned the kitchen floor, and made breakfast. You don't want to know what my kids have been doing. They don't want you to know either. Fortunately, we have books and cards. My kids may get bored occasionally, but at least they know how to divert themselves with books and cards. I breathe a sigh of relief and switch on my computer.
Thirty minutes later, I'm almost bored myself. I'm rewriting a manuscript I finished a few years ago which has subsequently unwritten itself. Scenes which I clearly remember as funny and lively suddenly ring wooden and lackluster. I've rewritten this twice now and it's still not right. Maybe I need to distance myself from it. Maybe a diversion is in order? A little dalliance with Facebook...
I click into my Facebook account. No sooner have I logged in than the following message pops up at the bottom of my screen, from Ahmed, one of my students from last term: Hello my teacher how are you?
I ignore it, but five minutes later, Ahmet is back.
Teacher how are you I miss you?
Aww... I'm touched. How are you Ahmet? I type back. How is your summer so far?
Ahmet's answer takes so long, I'm about to click out of Facebook and get back to work on that pesky WIP, but before I can do this, it comes through: Teacher very borring summer.
Which is what I get for friending my ex-students on Facebook. Read a book, I write back. Get one of those learners' English readers out of the library and get some good studying done.
Ahmet checking out an English reader is about as likely to happen as world peace within the next two years, but I live in hope.
Leaving Ahmet to his own devices, I go back to my work in progress. I read over the Halloween scene, when the bullies from my protagonist's school stumble into the closet where a road-kill deer is dripping into a bucket in the dark. I'm disgusted with myself: this scene isn't funny. How could I have written this and left out the funny? An hour later, I've washed and hung out another wash and the Halloween scene is much better. But my kids are bored again. They're thinking of going for a swim, but they want me to come with them to the pool. "I've already been!" I tell them. "I swam half a kilometer while you were sleeping!"
They grumble a little, but at least they go. I go back to my work in progress, but I'm tired. It's time for another break, isn't it? After all, I've baked muffins, cleaned the floor, put on two washes AND coped with adolescent ennui; I'm owed a break, aren't I? I click into Facebook and spend an amusing ten minutes, and once again, just as I'm about to click out, another message pops onto my screen: Hello how are you my teacher? You don't go home American? This one is from Gökhan, another ex-student.
Oh, what the hell. Hi Gökhan, how is your summer?
There is a long pause. Teacher this summer very bored.
I take a deep breath. Are you back home?
There is such a long pause that I'm sure Gökhan has either gotten involved with a more interesting interlocutor or given up, but before I can click off, his reply comes through. Teacher I am here I donot pass professcency exam.
You didn't pass the proficiency exam? This doesn't make sense. Gökhan wasn't a brilliant student, but he should have passed the proficiency exam.
Another long pause. I mistake writing composetion. Write futur, not past. I stay here take exam again after summer school.
By Herculean effort, I resist the urge to write I told you to read the instructions carefully! and write I'm so sorry. And then because I can't help myself, Practice your writing with me any time! Gökhan assures me he will, but I know I'm safe in volunteering my time. If I couldn't get him to spare fifteen minutes on exam review, there's no way he'll take me up on this.
My kids are back from the swimming pool by the time I get on Facebook again, and they're already looking for something else to do. Before I can talk to them, this message pops up on my screen: Hello teacher you are well? It's from Ümit, another ex-student.
I'm fine, Ümit, how are you?
Teacher, Very boring summer. this island very boring.
Oh, for pity's sake! Why is it my fault if they're bored? What can I possibly do about it? Go out and read a book or write to your friends or go fishing. Climb a mountain, volunteer at the local animal shelter, or raise money for charity. But don't tell me about it. I've had enough. I am officially bored of being bored.
Teacher I see you yesterday near harbour!
I ignore this and comment on a friend's post. Let Ümit go and find himself a girlfriend! When I was his age, my friends and I wouldn't have dreamed of chewing the fat with our teachers this way. We knew that we had to make our own fun; that it wasn't up to our parents or -- God forbid! -- our teachers to supply it.
You were shopping!
Yes, I was down at the harbor yesterday, shopping with my daughters. And Ümit's writing has certainly picked up some speed. Before I can write a reply, he adds: You are with very beautiful girls!
Uh oh.
Got to go now I quickly type. Hope you have a good summer!
Let them find their own diversions. Parents and teachers should only do so much.
