Parents getting more involved or parents just making parenting more "convenient"? Watching the news, you hear more and more about how parenting should be done and schools making them safer. You hear how every child needs to be watched, guarded, and restrained every waking second. You see news about schools taking away everyday games like, basketball, football, baseball, and soccer, replacing them with more safe games that do not include balls, objects that can hurt, losers/winners or anything that has statistically shown can cause injury. My perspective is not just an outsiders news clip view, my wife is a teacher, which allows me access to the inside workings and her teacher friends. My mom worked as a school nurse for years before the stress of “red tape” regulations, procedures were too much for her to bear. It seems parents, schools, the media, are pushing to replace our world of dirt, trees, life, and rocks, with a constant bubble or padded rooms for their children, our future, to gain experience in. Yesterday I heard that one school district wanted to remove sports that involved any type of ball to help prevent accidents with injuries. Will this curtail the amount of injuries reported at recess? Probably so; but at the cost of whom? While so many parents, government committees or focus groups labor on how to prevent any and every “bad” experience from happening to their children; you have the same amount of time spent on negative commentary about the “Entitlement” generation. Where are we not making the connection? If you feel that you are well connected, what makes you feel so superior in such judgments about preventions? How can one demonize the experience of a losing a sports game, breaking a bone, eating dirt, or allowing a child some liberty to make mistakes but at the same time, you claim your credibility is through personal experience with some or all of these things? Would that not make you a product of inferior or inadequate parenting and thus make your input a little bias to your own negative perspective? Why should we listen to a generation so scarred, so emotional distraught by the lack of parental oversight? I am not personally discrediting anyone’s opinion, it just begs for more self reflection. Lying in bed last night with my wife, we were watching the lightening storm outside our window, as the flashes of light momentarily invaded our dark room we were talking about how cold it might get this winter. During our conversation, my thoughts about the new generation of padded suits, living in bubble children, were in the back of my mind. In correlation with the conversation with my wife and the simultaneous inner thoughts I was having, I told her about a childhood memory of mine. I shared with her that where I grew up, pretty much tucked away in the woods, we had a pad of concrete at the bottom of our back door steps. There were about 12 to 13 steps that lead out of our kitchen area down to the concrete pad and out into the backyard of struggling grass, sand, and woods. When we were lucky and the weather conditions permitted, we would take pots, cups, bowls, filled with water and dump them on this 20ft by 20ft pad to freeze at night. It usually took a lot of water, time, and enthusiastic anticipation to complete the work…plus the nightly maintenance if the temperature got a little high during the day. The whole time we were prepping the “ice skating rink” our mom and dad would watch and advise, sometimes help. It seemed the only “prevention” that took place was my dad telling us “That is plenty of water…I don’t want to run the well dry because y’all are making ice out back!” in a loving stern voice. After our awesome plan was executed with swift perfection, we would put on our winter ice skating clothes (our normal clothes) and head out back. As we cautiously went down the slippery icy steps (maybe not so well thought out about that) we would start to play on our ice skating rink. One might think to themselves, “How much can you actually do on just a small pad of ice?” Well, when you are at the tender age of 6 (my sister), 9 (myself), and 11 (my brother), our imagination made us think that skating rink was square miles in size. We would get a run n start on the grass and slide on our bellies, feet, butt, or back. We would have competitions of trying to walk the furthest without falling; we would go at each other and try to push the other on the ground, then trying to just push one another around the pad. The temperature during some of these nightly adventures was in the low teens, yeah, that is cold in South Carolina but you would be surprised what your brain ignores with so much fun to be had. Seriously, you can eat up a couple of hours real quick with silly games thought up by kids. This whole time we are playing mom and dad were right there laughing with us, making suggestions, occasional warnings that went in one ear and out the other would be spoken. When we would fall, easy or hard, there was always a laugh from mom and then “You are okay, get up.” for some assurance, and we would keep right on playing. You know exactly what I’m talking about with those words, its when your kid falls and looks at you with the lip already curling; parents know that they have a small window of opportunity to say “Your fine.”, before the child makes you think you need a Red Cross helicopter landing zone in your backyard. If we got bored with our own games, we would entice the dogs onto the ice or go find one of the numerous (dispensable) cats to toss on the ice for our amusement. Life was good. As I told my wife this story, I couldn’t help but notice how my voice seemed different, it was me talking but I was talking in the same 9 year old voice of excitement…I was experiencing it all over again. I am sure we were sore, had bruises, cuts, and were at times cold BUT all I remember is the fun, the laughter, and the experience of throwing caution to the wind and living like a dauntless kid. My wife drifted off to sleep, this usually takes less than 5 seconds of quietness, and I was left with a smile on my face, flashes of lightening, rolling thunder, and self reflection of what it all means. I deep sense of gratitude came over me for being so lucky to have the parents I had, whether it be some divine blessing or perfect mixture of the cosmos, I was certain that I would not have changed a thing about my parents. I am not saying that there are not parents today who allow such activities to take place but from the majority of what you hear in the media, these kinds of experiences might soon be demonized as too negligent/dangerous for kids today. My parents were present, they helped, but their interference was very well calculated…no, they were perfectly calculated, so that when this memory comes up, all I can do is smile and laugh. If one of us got hurt, which I’m sure there was pain involved somewhere, they didn’t rip up the ice, coddle us inside, or put football armor on us. We were safe as safe could be on a makeshift ice skating rink, making memories, learning from our mistakes and fortunes…planning for the next day’s adventure on the ice and already anticipating the next year’s winter games! Mom, Dad, words cannot express my gratitude for the wisdom you had, how you raised us, and the lifetime of debt all your children owe to you. Those nights, I know both of you had to be cold too, tired from work, some anxiety, and had other things you could be doing, but you chose to share life with us. I am positive that you both would say that the payment was instantly received, and I would agree but maybe it pays forward also, because I want to raise my children the same way and my children to do the same with their children. It all started with both of you, and if LOVE is the strongest term we have for describing the emotions I have for you, I hope that you hear my voice every second in your ear saying “I love you!” I, of course, am never short on words or rarely do I hold back my analysis or opinions on most things. However, I think that this glimpse into my memory bank can write its own never ending saga of lessons. I ask that instead of remembering the bruises, scrapes, and pain, focus on the laughter, the smiles, and memories to be captured. Really, if you think about it, kids are like rubber balls, most of the time they hit the ground and bounce right back up unharmed…as long as you don’t put your foot on them or hold them in your hand.
Posted on: Tue, 08 Oct 2013 13:08:59 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015