When I was 11 or 12 years old, I was into deep-sea diving. In our house.

It was challenging because I did not have air tanks. But I did have a white face mask that covered my eyes and nose. That’s all I really needed.

Now, a skinny kid wearing a face mask automatically looks ridiculous. But he’s even weirder if he’s wandering around the house pretending to be a frogman. Yeah, that’s what I was doing. Pretending to be former Navy frogman Mike Nelson, whose underwater adventures I experienced via the TV show “Sea Hunt.”

I have a reason for sharing this story now with you, but I certainly did not tell my friends about it then. How could I? I was in seventh or eighth grade. Not a good age to be acting like a kid. How would it have sounded?

“Hey guys, guess what I do when I’m bored? I put on my face mask … for swimming underwater. Then I get down on the floor at home and pretend I am in the ocean, crawling across the floor on my belly. I reach out my arms and pull the “water” back to propel myself forward. It really works. I take a deep breath, and when I exhale I make that sound ... like bubbles escaping from my air tanks.”

Yep, that’s what I did. We had slippery floors in the house. I even slid headfirst down the stairs into the basement ... for that deeper dive.

So, my underwater fantasy seems like a good example of what growing up was like for my generation. We created a lot of our own entertainment. And my diving adventures came to mind after I read a short essay online. I was pulled in by the first graph: “We are the last generation of American children who will ever know what true boredom felt like. And that seemingly small detail may be one of the most significant losses in human history.”

It’s not clear who authored the piece, but the message hit home. Let me share a bit more ... “Look at us now. We are in our 50s, 60s and 70s. Our hair has grayed. Our bodies move with the careful deliberation that time requires. But inside each of us lives the memory of something that no child today will ever experience again.

“The profound, uncomfortable, creative silence of having absolutely nothing to do. We remember summer afternoons that stretched endlessly. No screens glowing in our pockets. No notifications buzzing for attention. No algorithm suggesting what we should watch next or who we should talk to or what game we should play. Just time. Long, empty, endless time that we had to fill ourselves.

“And in those stretched-out hours, something magical happened without us even realizing it. We learned to create our own worlds. We built forts from couch cushions and cardboard boxes. We invented elaborate games with rules that made sense only to us. We stared at clouds and imagined entire stories in their shapes.

“Boredom was not a problem to solve. It was the blank canvas where imagination learned to dream, explore, and become.”

My underwater play was aided by the technology of the day – television. TV did spark my imagination a lot. Still does. So did and do books. But I did not carry a screen around all day. The transistor radio, a blessing to teens from my era, was very portable but not a constant companion. The technology I used the most was the bicycle. I hit the door running to explore whatever was outside.

The essay goes on to say ... “Boredom was not wasted time. It was the soil where creativity took root. It was the uncomfortable space where children learned to entertain themselves, to think independently, to become the architects of their own imagination. ...

“We did not realize we were lucky then. We complained about having nothing to do, just like every generation of children. But looking back now, we can see the gift we were given.”

I agree. My imagination was plugged in a lot as a kid. And it still is. But … I also think it’s something in everyone that can never be shut off completely.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle IL 61301.