Escaping Boredom

I was fourteen years old. I had a bad haircut, insisted on by my family. I was overweight, especially around my stomach. I wore hand-me-downs, although we lived in an upper middle-class community. All that was just the surface. The thing that really bothered me was that I was bored with my life. The only good thing was that my history teacher, Dr. Madras, recommended books outside of the syllabus which kept me up at night reading.

My family belonged to a witches’ circle. I know that sounds interesting, but it was all tedious ceremony and ritual that I didn’t believe in it at all. The parents of my friends in school belonged to a fundamentalist Christian church. My friends didn’t believe in that, either. Their response was to rebel in any way possible. They especially liked to drink and smoke pot. I didn’t tell them about my parents being in a coven, mainly because I was afraid it would appeal to them, and that would make me feel worse about not wanting any part of it.

Almost all of my interactions with people were shallow. Any time anyone brought up something of depth, whether philosophy, art, poetry, or even raw emotions, they got branded as crazy, whether by my parents and their coven or my friends. For example, I have an uncle who was a welder and when he retired, he used his welding techniques to create art, some of which sold at high prices. He used to talk to me about the nature of creativity. My parents said he was eccentric and he was no longer invited to family gatherings. A former Missouri State Poet Laureate tried my parent’s coven. He talked to me about Jungian psychology, Dante’s Divine Comedy, and the poetry of Sylvia Plath. My parents said he was crazy, and the leader of the coven said something upsetting to him. He never came back. Any time someone in my high school social circle was enthusiastic about an interest or expressed a strong emotion they were labeled “not cool,” and shunned, like the girl who became obsessed with astronomy and physics, or like the guy who was devastated over the death of a cousin.

One night, one of my friends had a party. A beer and a toke made my mind fuzzy. It took the edge off my boredom, but it was the opposite of being entranced by a good book. I didn’t want to live with that boredom. I also didn’t want to toast my brain in order to adjust to living with shallow relationships and thoughts. I left the party early.

The next day, Dr. Madras said she wanted to talk to me for a moment after class. I had lunch right after history, so I was alright with that.

“From your participation in class, I can tell you are thinking at a college level, but your grades aren’t good. With little effort, I think you could easily make it onto the honor roll.”

“I know I’m not a good student.”

“You could be, though. I think a college education would be intellectually stimulating for you and help you avoid a monotonous job. College is also a good place to form deep friendships for life.”

Now she was speaking my language. “Thank you, Dr. Madras.”

“I hope you’ll think about it. You have a lot of potential.”

I went to the library instead of to the cafeteria and did some homework. I didn’t want to hang out with the friends I had been hanging out with. I didn’t want to spend my time in meaningless and useless ceremonies and rituals in the evening. I wanted a future.

My parents, especially my father, insisted that I go with them to their witches’ meetings, which were held several nights a week.. That night I took my textbooks with me and sat out of the services to do homework. During a ceremony, my father collapsed. Everybody was dismayed, like they didn’t know what to do. Someone started chanting a spell over him. I called 911. He wasn’t breathing and the operator directed us on how to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation and CPR until the paramedics arrived. The paramedics declared him dead.

My mother said, “Someone must have put a curse on him. We have to do some spells to deflect the curse on the rest of the family.”

I said, “No, Mom. He was obese like the rest of us and didn’t get any exercise. We’ve all been eating salty take-out food. The spells didn’t do anything for him before, and more spells aren’t going to do anything for us now.”

My mother slapped my face. “How dare you say such things?”

“It’s only common sense. It’s what Grandma has been saying all along. Maybe I should live with her now. Without Dad’s income, we can’t stay in the house we’ve been living in.”

While my father was alive, we had dinner with Grandma (paternal grandmother) every weekend. About the only thing she and my parents agreed on was my bad haircuts.

My mother frowned. “Don’t take her side. We’ll work some more magic. Everything will come out fine, you’ll see. This might not have happened if you had taken part last night.”

“Don’t blame it on me. I’m a high school student in a college prep track. I’m supposed to be doing homework at night.”

I called Grandma and told her about my father’s passing. She and my aunt arranged for a memorial service.

Nothing could make me go back to the coven meetings again. Grandma made it easier for me by buying me a monthly train ticket so I could go to her apartment at night, and to the same high school during the day. I did a lot of homework on the hour-long train ride and actually did get on the honor roll. Grandma arranged for me to go to a boarding school for the next three years of high school. I made strong friendships there, where everyone loved to read, and where the other students engaged me in meaningful conversations. We remained friends after graduation, and we still share our deepest thoughts and feelings with each other. I did well in school and got a scholarship to college, where I made more good friends and chose to prepare for a career in psychology. Life hasn’t been boring since.