Miriel, whose comment turned a throwaway little post into a series that is one of my favorite things on this site, asked me to say more about teaching kids to be independent. Little did you know, Miriel, that I have been roughing out an answer to exactly that question inside my head.
I've been thinking about my Petely in particular, who is more cautious than his siblings. A year ago he was working on his /r/ in my building every Tuesday and Thursday at 4:30. I did not want to walk down to my house and then back to my building and then back home again at 5, but of course I did not want him to be fearful about a solo trip. I was trying to remember how it had worked out, exactly: I knew that he was very reluctant to walk without me in August, and that he was doing it fearlessly in November. "What helped you to feel more comfortable?" I asked him. He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: "You did it with me, Mom!"
Later this week I'll share my thoughts on how that happened. Tonight I want to talk about context. Because here's the thing: if you want your kid to go places, you have to give him interesting places to go. You have to give him a way to get there, and it helps a lot if you can make the trip seem normal and not heroic.
Part of the issue is infrastructure. I've posted before about telling our realtor that our top priority in house-hunting was sidewalks -- specifically, sidewalks that would take us to places where we wanted to be. I did not realize at the time how nutty that probably sounded, but it was a great strategy for us. Virtually all of the new construction in our town requires a 10- or 15-minute drive to get to a walkable part of town. And if your own personal kids shouldn't get themselves anywhere until they're 16 (because it's against the law for them to drive before that), you just might infer that kids in general shouldn't get themselves anywhere until they're 16 (because think of the children!). Adult opinions about kids' capabilities are shaped by what they see kids doing. If you never see kids getting around town on their own, it becomes a novel and potentially hazardous situation. Quick, call 911 on these unleashed children! Tell the parents: Ur Doin It Wrong!
In observing newcomers to town, I have found that many of them want to buy newer fancier houses in newer fancier subdivisions. The closets are bigger, the home maintenance costs are often lower*, and the schools are a bit better. But I'll just mention this: in terms of nurturing independence, it has also been advantageous for us to live in a neighborhood that is economically mixed. This idea that good parents constantly supervise their kids is tied tightly to class privilege. Maybe in my ideal world the parents across the street would stop smoking and wear helmets while riding their motorcycles. But in spite of our differences we agree on something important: kids can explore safely on our little block. We can look out for them while they figure it out.
*Keep in mind, though, that older houses were built to last in a way that many newer houses are not. You can't be certain that you'll pay less for upkeep in a newer subdivision.
Here's another unusual house-hunting requirement: climbing trees. Older neighborhoods are more likely to have lovely mature trees suitable for climbing; too many newer subdivisions are full of soulless stinking Bradford pears whose branches fall off if you sneeze as you walk by. Tree-climbing is something that most kids can do better than most adults. It teaches them to make in-the-moment judgments about risk and safety. It teaches them that they can get stronger and better over time if they're willing to keep showing up and putting in the effort. It gives them a space that's all their own. And-- it does all of these things for free! I have had the occasional hair-raising moment with my tree-climbing children, but I recommend the practice wholeheartedly nonetheless.
This paragraph is going to sound a little California-esque, so roll your eyes if you must. Kids who climb trees are often kids who notice trees, because that's how they find new territory to explore. I think this is an invaluable habit for nurturing a sense of place, for teaching kids that the walnuts come before the acorns and the horse chestnuts, that the locust pods fall while the catalpa pods stay. I think that feeling thoroughly at home on the streets of their neighborhood can give kids the willingness to explore what's beyond.
[Here endeth the granola part.]
Whatever your neighbors are doing with their kids, you can define normal within your own house. I suggest doing this through classic children's books, which describe a world in which young kids routinely went places on their own. Have you seen this post on free-ranging in picture books? This could be a fun comments discussion, actually: what books do you recommend for teaching kids about competence? Beverly Cleary's books about the Klickitat Street kids are favorites of mine, as you know. I suggest reading books that you find a little eyebrow-raising, like Joan Aiken's Elves in the Shelves. (I get a little hyperventilate-y thinking about that one, actually.) Here is the image that springs to mind: reading about how kids occupied themselves in the 1940s and 50s and 60s feels like blinking in the sunlight when you walk out of a matinee -- both uncomfortable and refreshing. We have all been immersed in a constrained and artificial version of kids' abilities. It's time to exit that theater.
Oh, goodness, it's 9:11 and I am almost a thousand words in, and I spent a whole paragraph talking about the glories of trees like some sort of long-winded Ent on a mission to Free The Children. Look out, any Saruman wannabes telling capable children they should stay meekly in an iPad-stocked version of Orthanc, because I'm probably aiming another thousand-word missive in your direction on Thursday. Hroom hroom!
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