Light and Momentary

Think of the children

Maybe for Lent I will give up complaining about the weather. It is the very opposite of an eternal perspective, getting grumpy about something that is guaranteed to be temporary. But today is Mardi Gras, so in that festive spirit I will tell you that this morning's weather was absolutely foul. I was out in the weather a fair amount today (I mean, okay, a fair amount for a person with a desk job, which is to say I spent half an hour walking in it), and it was unrelentingly disgusting. The sky couldn't seem to decide whether to snow or rain so it plopped slush down upon our heads in the morning. Then in the afternoon there was freezing rain like needles and a vicious wind. Also mud, because the air is cold but the ground is not. 

So it wasn't a great day for walking to school, is what I'm saying. I had planned to send Stella with an umbrella, but we got caught up reading Two Towers and I wound up giving her a ride. 

Now I've told you before about the neighborhood grade school. It's on a narrow older street, with signage that says clearly that no one is supposed to park during pickup/drop-off hours. These signs have always been ignored, but the ignoring has risen to a new level recently. Instead of pulling over to the curb and dropping off a kid who then runs down 30 feet to be greeted by the school staff waiting in the driveway, parents are now parking their cars, turning off their engines, unstrapping their kids, locking their doors, and walking with them to the teachers.

It's not just the kindergartners; it's not just kids with special needs. It's a widespread thing: parents are escorting their 9- and 10-year old children 30 feet along the sidewalk. 

Under other circumstances I might feel that this is a "to each her own" kind of deal. In these circumstances, though, I do not feel that way. This substantially increases the time it takes to drop a kid off, which increases congestion (and driver irritation) on a narrow street. This makes the zone around the school less safe. The thing they're doing with the idea that kids will be safer thereby is having the opposite effect. 

I usually deal with this by ignoring it. Stella mostly walks in the mornings, but when I drop her off I generally don't turn the corner. I believe in my 11-year-old's ability to walk 20 yards without her mother, because I am reckless like that.

Today, for reasons that now elude me, I turned onto the street where the school was and was greeted by a whole string of opportunities to grow in patience. Parents on the street were very carefully poking their umbrellas out of the car first, and then very carefully holding the umbrellas over their kids' doors as the kids emerged, so they could walk the 30 feet to the school driveway without getting slushed on. 

"Maybe their kids have sensory issues and you shouldn't be so judgy," I said to myself. "Maybe they have immunological issues and their parents are worried about them getting wet and chilled during cold and flu season. They get to decide what works for their families just like you do."

But OH my friends, I did not succeed in squelching my side-eye. People of America, most children thrive on small challenges. Falling slush is unlikely to break them. They can probably even handle the combination of falling slush AND walking 30 feet down the sidewalk. Try it! You might like it! 

It feels like no time at all since Joe was at this school and he will be starting college in the fall. I started to say "Obviously no one is going to hold an umbrella over a COLLEGE STUDENT'S head!" But you know, I wouldn't want to speak too soon.

Fences on the Range

This is our thirteenth year at the little neighborhood elementary school, and I'm noticing a change in the drop-off norms. It used to be that parents who drove would stop their cars in front of the school. The kids would grab their stuff and scoot across the parking lot to the front door as the parents pulled away. 

The new trend is for parents to leave their vehicles idling on the street and walk across the parking lot with their kids.

I find this totally perplexing. The parking lot is blocked off with sawhorses for all of drop-off, so there are no cars moving through that might pose a hazard to the kids. I guess the kids could...run into a parked car? or make a break for the playground? or run all the way through the playground and over the fence to take a nice refreshing dip in the creek behind the school?

It seems more plausible to me that increasing congestion on a crowded narrow street will cause a car accident, an event much more likely to result in harm to a school family than an unplanned playground detour.

Drop-off is always staffed by a pair of teachers. Rain or shine (or sleet or hail), they stand in a spot where a parent can ask them questions from the street, while at the same time they can see the school's front door. I suppose it's possible that there's been an epidemic of weeping or confused or defiant children melting down in the parking lot while the overwhelmed teachers look on in horror? Maybe? 

As you have no doubt deduced by now, I suspect that the real epidemic is parents who don't want to be under-supportive. If your kid tells you that Braden and Jaden and Hayden get to say goodbye to their parents at the front door, then maybe it starts to feel like an expectation instead of an anomaly. Maybe you begin to wonder whether all the good moms are walking their kids to the front door.

At the same time, fewer kids are walking from our neighborhood, and an even smaller number walk without adults. When my oldest sons went to school there, a big noisy crew walked from our block every morning. It was easier to be a free-range parent when the kids traveled in a pack and looked out for each other. There's a new batch of neighborhood kids who could form their own noisy crew. But most of them are driven, most of the time.

There's evidence suggesting that walking to school is good for kids' executive function and self-regulation. Day to day, kids who walk are more able to focus their attention once they're inside the school building. I'm more curious about long-term outcomes, though, and here I know of no data. What is the effect on kids when their parents don't think they can handle walking a half-mile without an adult?

What is the effect on kids when their parents don't want them to walk across the parking lot without an adult?

Slippery Slopes

We belong to a gym that has two locations in town: one is older and grubbier and more family-friendly; the other, newer and shinier, requires kids to stay in childcare. At the family-friendly location, the policy had been the same ever since we joined in 2007 or so: kids 8 and under needed to be supervised by a parent or else be in the childcare room. Once a kid turned 9, he had options-- shoot hoops while a parent was working out, sit and read a book until yoga was over, take the swim test.

It's been a while since I was at location #1. If I know I'm going to the gym, I'll usually choose the option with more treadmills and more parking. But this morning our group run was canceled at the very last minute when thunderstorms rolled into town. I wanted to get my 4 miles in early without getting struck by lightning, and I was right by location #1. So I headed over there.

There's a new sign posted, saying that kids now require direct parental supervision until they're 11 years old. It's only been a couple of weeks since we were talking about how many of us were responsible for other people's smaller children when we were 10 and 11, but apparently these days kids can't even manage themselves at that age. If you find yourself wondering, at some point in the future, when we decided that 10-year-olds were too immature or too delicate to be on their own for 30 minutes -- the answer is 2018.

Sane Mom Volution Revisited

Whenever I am wondering to myself whether Stella is ready to do something on her own, I think about when I was 9. My brother was born 3 days after I turned 9, and I learned a ton about taking care of babies from him. I clearly remember being left in charge for brief spells, like when my mother needed to run out and get a gallon of milk. I also clearly remember our nervous teenage babysitter: she was anxious about taking care of the baby, and he could tell. He fussed in her arms, but I knew how to settle him. I remember feeling competent.

So I say, Yes, Stella, you can walk to the candy shop by yourself. 

BUT! Tonight at dinner my mother disputed this memory. “I wouldn’t have done that!” she exclaimed. 

I think she must be mistaken, you guys. I think she has lived in a world where 9yos don’t take care of babies for so long that she has forgotten about telling her very own 9yo to take care of a baby. 

Or maybe I’m just delusional. One of the two. 

In which I throw up my hands

Remember when my kids quit chess club? The club was taken over by a mother who was outraged that I had checked in periodically with my kids over the course of their day at a chess tournament. I popped in regularly, making sure they were well stocked with food and water and morale and good manners, but I didn't spend the whole day on site. I wasn't even allowed in the room where they were playing. I had no idea that this would be considered problematic. But the new chess club organizer was aghast. That was completely inappropriate, she told my kid. (Disagreement #1: can kids manage separation from their parents? Disagreement #2: should you offer vehement criticism of a parent to a kid in the absence of overt abuse or neglect? Disagreement #2.5: especially if the parent is doing something that had never been a problem in years past, before Outrage Mom came on the scene?)

My husband went to the organizational meeting for chess club the following year, when Outrage Mom and her husband were running the show. You have to be on site at all times, they stressed, and you can't be in the chess club if you don't attend the tournaments, but it's okay. Because we have enough chargers for you and your kids. (Disagreement #3: how much downtime should kids spend on screens? Disagreement #4: how much downtime should parents spend on screens when they've taken time out specifically to be with the kids?)

We quit chess club.

Pete got a sleepover invitation from a classmate whose last name I didn't know. When he forwarded the email to me my heart sank a little: his last name is Outrage. I texted her for details, hoping she wouldn't remember that I'm the completely inappropriate Jamie Gladly. The kids are bowling first, she told me. Meet us at the bowling alley and we'll go to our house afterward.

I needed more information, though, so I texted her back. I was worried that a person who thought it was fine for kids to park themselves on their phones and tablets all day at chess tournaments might not object to phone-parking all night at her kid's birthday party.

I don't have a policy, she texted back. My kid knows I check his phone every day. The other guests are [nice boys, but all 12 and 13 years old]. Your son can just come for bowling.

The disagreements start piling up here, friends. #5 (this one is minor): In my view a technology policy is prudent, because it cuts down on arguments and just-this-once moments. #6 (this one is not minor): The idea of scrolling through my kids' texts every day to keep them in line makes me a little queasy. They have the right to hold private conversations until I have good reason to revoke it. #7 (also not minor): How many 12- and 13-year-olds haven't figured out how to cover their tracks with private browsing? Does it do any good to check his phone every day? #8 (the heart of the matter): I can be very fond of individual 12- and 13-year-old boys and also be skeptical of their ability to exercise prudence as a group at 2am with the wide-open internet available to them. I do not buy the argument that nice boys from nice families don't do dumb things late at night. #9: I think I would be very cautious about saying to an invited guest "If you don't like it, don't come."

There used to be consensus about this, didn't there? Keep kids off the internet in their bedrooms? Late-night internet access is bad for sleep hygiene and well-being? And yet I seem to be the curmudgeon here. The last time my 12yo had a sleepover the guest was deeply indignant about our house rule that phones stay downstairs at night. "But it's my phone," he insisted to my son.

Earlier this week I was thinking about an in-law relationship where I always seem to get it wrong with regard to parenting. A year ago I was too lax when I gave Stella permission to hang out some distance away from me. This time I was too strict -- I told Stella that she could not get up and cavort in the restaurant aisles, that she could not hang out on someone else's phone taking selfies, even though other kids in our party were doing those things. Suddenly I understood the reason behind the apparent inconsistency: I am confident that my kids can demonstrate adult-like behavior. They can be separated from me briefly and live to tell the tale. They can order from the adult menu and participate in the conversation. (And also? They can stay the hell out of the way in a busy restaurant aisle). I was being consistent; my in-law was also being consistent.

And maybe this sounds a little strange, but I think I am also setting adult expectations for my kids with regard to technology. I have a nighttime cutoff for recreational internet use myself (11pm), because having a rule keeps me from arguing with myself at the time of day when my willpower is depleted. I don't let myself buy Kindle books after the cutoff, because I make dumb purchases when I'm tired. I keep my phone in my room to read books and use the alarm, but there's no Twitter happening overnight. In the places where I know I am most likely to make bad decisions, I try to limit the number of bad decisions I can make. And if the kids disagree with my internet policy, they are free to do it differently after they leave home.

I didn't reply to Outrage Mom yet. I feel certain that I'll get it wrong, whatever I say.

Yours wearily,
The completely inappropriate Jamie Gladly

PS Please tell me how you handle this at your house, and why, and what the magic words are that I can say to Outrage Mom. And would you send your kid to the sleepover under the circumstances?

Captain's Log

Stardate 09272016

We continue our exploration of this baffling planet, made more dangerous by its superficial resemblance to the planet on which the senior officers were trained. On Saturday Co-Captain Elwood took the courageous Ensign Stella to a location they had visited on scores of previous explorations, with the purpose of observing my participation in a local custom known as a "half-marathon." I commend them for their promptness, as my estimate of the time at which they should meet me was unduly pessimistic.

Ensign Stella waved enthusiastically at my approach, and sought permission to run a little way with me. Permission granted, I told her without a second thought, given the familiarity of the locale, the complete absence of vehicular traffic, and the proximity of Co-Captain Elwood. I did not learn until after completing the event that Ensign Stella encountered a hostile native while watching the event approximately 10 yards from her commanding officer. "WHERE are your superiors?" the alien demanded. Mindful of the Prime Directive ("Charity and Courtesy"), Ensign Stella answered her. "Go back!" commanded the alien. "Go back! Go back!"

Here Ensign Stella faced a quandary: pursue her mission with her CO's approval, or yield to the angry alien spouting perseverative puzzling prescriptions? Although she attempted to explain the situation, she was shouted down. She returned to Co-Captain Elwood, whose own energies were then required for tear-wiping and consolation. I would like to point out that as far as I can determine, Ensign Stella was in no way interfering with competitors or spectators. Regardless, her presence was deeply disturbing to the alien female.

Further research is required to determine whether Ensign Stella arouses such consistent distressing responses from the natives because she is herself female, whereas previous ensigns have all been male, or because a startling number of the planet's inhabitants are suffering from troubling delusions about the nature of the planet and the capacities of our crew.

Sidewalk postscripts

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

It occurred to me today that yesterday's post wasn't especially useful to people with little kids, because I'm mostly thinking about different questions these days. I do have an old post that might offer some useful tidbits. Stella was 2.5 when I wrote it, and it tells the story of a fun evening on our neighborhood multi-use trail. The game that we were playing meant that some of the time she was out of sight behind my back (roaring at me, though, so I was in no doubt about her location), and some of the time she was running ahead of me on the trail. We were on a stretch of the trail where there were no intersections and few other visitors, so we didn't have to worry about cars or bikes. We could hopscotch back and forth for a bit before we got close to the busy road, where I was sure to take her hand and remind her about watching for cars. It's easy to view a toddler who is running away from his mom as an emergency waiting to happen -- and sure, it can absolutely be an emergency -- but it doesn't have to be. 

(Also in that post: the importance of family culture in encouraging kids to get around on foot, the value of older siblings looking out for younger siblings (and incidentally giving mom just the tiniest heart attack), and the motivational merits of a neighborhood ice cream shop. I fear I keep saying the same three things again and again in this category, but let's just move onward and not linger over that question, okay?)

It might also be worth thinking when your kids are small about the activities you want them to be involved in when they're bigger. I am a big fan of Boy Scouts, because it's youth-led and outdoor-focused. The grownups might prefer it if kids didn't love to set things on fire, but many kids do love to set things on fire. A good Scout troop will say, Sure, you can set that thing on fire -- but not the other thing. Sure, you can use a big knife -- just use it sensibly. Go ahead, dig yourself a big hole -- just fill it in later. The contrast in my mind is travel soccer, where the coaches run the practices and the participants spend big chunks of their weekends in unfamiliar towns. There are all kinds of good reasons to do traveling sports teams, but there are drawbacks as well. I think it's worth seeking out activities with adult mentors who will encourage kids to be self-directed and to explore safely.

Hitting the sidewalks

Part 1 Part 2 and some follow-up odds and ends

Teaching kids to get around in the world is like teaching them anything else. First you do it for them, then you do it with them, and finally they do it themselves. 

As with any complex skill, there's some back and forth. There are kids who vault out of diapers and never look back, but I think they're the exception and not the rule. There will be days when your walking child hops back in the stroller, and days when you ferry your 16-year-old licensed driver across town for one reason or another. But I think the key is to keep focusing on the progression. When kids new to underwear have accidents, we don't say, "That was a terrible idea. I guess we're never doing that again." We say, "Hm, let's troubleshoot." If a mother said of her typically developing 8-year-old, "I know some people would say he should be using the toilet by now, but HE MIGHT POOP IN THE FLOOR so I'm keeping him in diapers" -- we would worry about such a mother. 

I submit that we are holding kids back in an equally weird and developmentally inappropriate way with our current safety fixation. Dear parents of America, your kids are more competent than you think they are. 

This post has been kicking around in my head for a while now because what I am telling you seems too obvious. I have been waiting for the magical secret to occur to me, but there is no magical secret. There is only common sense coupled with patience.

Here's what I mean. I told you about how Petely was worried about walking to speech therapy last fall. There's one intersection between my house and my office that takes some practice to navigate. The traffic moves slowly there, so it's not as if we're playing Frogger when we cross it. But in the late afternoon it's clogged with cars eager for their turn going through the four-way stop, and college students are not always quick to yield the right of way to pedestrians. For the first few weeks I met him on the street south of the intersection and we walked through it together, talking about when it was safe and when it was unsafe. For the next few trips I met him just north of the intersection. He had to figure out the crossing, but I was there to wave encouragingly. He tried out some new crossing strategies that wouldn't have occurred to me ("I saw a college student coming; I waited a few seconds and crossed with her so I wouldn't be nervous"). After that he made the trip solo.

It would have been easy to say he wasn't old enough or brave enough yet. Remember, though, that "brave enough" is a moving target. Remember, too, that kids will ask you for independence from a very early age. Whenever you can reasonably do so, say yes. When you can't, affirm the impulse. This morning I was trying to figure out how to get Stella to the library and she said, "I can just walk by myself." I said, "I need more hands to give you all the thumbs up that I would like to give you." Two of her brothers heard the exchange and came to the dining room, giving her two thumbs up apiece. My husband also joined in the thumbs-up party. She had company for her library walk today, but she also knew that we were proud of her independent inclinations.

Tonight at dinner I asked the kids about it: what made you start asking to do things by yourself? What helped you to know you could handle it? They mentioned old-fashioned kids books, as I thought they might (oh! Mad Scientists' Club! love it! forgot about it! go buy it!), and they also mentioned family culture. When walking by yourself is both normal and a rite of passage, smaller siblings want to join in. This brings to mind a useful rule of thumb for raising independent kids: Pretend It's Still 1956.

In 1956, of course, it was totally normal for kids to walk to school, even if they had to -- the horror! -- cross the street in order to get there. I think this is partially because families were bigger in 1956. When you have lots of kids, they take more responsibility for each other, which helps to teach them that they can handle responsibility. They look out for each other (to a certain extent), so there's less need for constant adult supervision. Maybe a big family isn't in the cards for you, but can you hang around with big families? Can you form a pact with like-minded parents to let your kids explore together? It's true that kids often do better when someone is looking out for them. It's not true that the someone has to be an adult. Kids live up or down to our expectations of them. So remind me here -- what are the merits of low expectations, exactly?

In 1956 there were no cell phones. Megan McArdle has written about the role of cell phones in reporting non-negligent parents as negligent, and I think she's spot on. I think phones contribute to this problem in a more subtle way as well: they facilitate the instant appeal to external authority. Lost? Stuck? In trouble? Don't whip out your phone -- think about another solution instead. Lots of ink has been spilled lamenting the plugged-in-ness of today's parents, but it's not just about mental presence at a boring soccer game. When Google is the adults' go-to response to a question or a problem, what are we teaching the kids about how to figure out situations that leave them flustered? I have no data and I acknowledge my anti-smartphone bias, but I suspect that setting the example of autonomous problem-solving can help kids to be autonomous problem-solvers. This skill is not only a prerequisite for a solo walk to the ice cream shop; in the long run, it's much more important than the ability to buy your own ice cream.

So, huh, I may have talked myself out of my burned out go-with-the-flow (or go-with-the-flow-ish) state. Kids can handle a measure of independence. They need a measure of independence. Bring the Sane Mom Revolution already!

It's more than sidewalks: the parent part

Part 1

This morning my husband and I were talking about September 11, and I was telling him a little tearily about flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw. She stood 5'2", but when a team of hijackers took over the cockpit she did not sit down meekly to await her fate. She took what she had on hand -- water! -- and she boiled it to use as a weapon. Her story speaks to me of courage and resilience, and I think it's relevant for our conversation about kids and independence.

Miriel asked about strategies for calming her own anxiety, and I have a few ideas. But I think, too, that it's important to remember two things. First, you and your kids get to frame your own experiences. I have an older post in this category that mentions a story I saw on Facebook: some kids were left alone and they set the couch on fire accidentally. Then they put the fire out. You can let that be a story about how kids should never be left alone, just like you can let Sandy Bradshaw's act of defiance be a story about the futility of resisting terrorist activity. Or you can let that couch be a reminder that kids do foolish things, yes, but that they are resourceful if we encourage them to be so. You can't shield your kids from all harm, no matter how vigorously you try. But the way you frame their adverse experiences can make a difference to them years down the line.

Here's the second thing I encourage any parent to remember: a huge fraction of your ability to raise your children contentedly arises from your ability to disregard 80% of other people's opinions about what's best for your children. It reminds me a bit of the debate about homebirth. People are only too happy to tell you that it's irresponsible to plan an out-of-hospital birth; they are considerably less eager to evaluate the science and think objectively about risks and benefits. [long digression deleted -- you're welcome!] Within reasonable limits, you get to make your own choices for your kids. The people around you -- parents, in-laws, friends, neighbors, and strangers at Target -- will tell you for the rest of your life that you're making the wrong decisions. In the absence of overt abuse/neglect or gross disregard for social norms, parents have zero obligation to strangers at Target. My kids deserve the best of my decision-making ability, and I decline to divert more than a modicum of mental mojo to the question of what the neighbors might think is best. (The angst on display in this category of posts might indicate that my modicum of mental mojo could stand to be whittled down. I'm working on it.)

Given the ages of your kids, Miriel, it might be helpful to remember that you are going to watch their abilities unfurl beside you for a while. You can push back without sending your three-year-old to the corner mailbox by himself. Start by rejecting the ridiculous idea that kids shouldn't talk to strangers. Gavin de Becker writes so sensibly about this -- be sure to read his book if you haven't yet. Talking to strangers is a critical life skill, and it requires practice. The practice is easy, though -- when they want something at the coffee shop, have them order for themselves. When they want another Tomie de Paola book at the library and you're nursing the baby, they can ask the librarian for help while you sit in your chair and watch. When you take the city bus together, setting them up for the day when they can do it without you, they can ask the driver for a transfer while you fold up the stroller. Some kids will need more coaching and encouragement than others, but this is a learnable skill. And if they get into a bind when you're not there, those joint experiences with helpful (and even unhelpful!) adults will reassure you both that the world is mostly full of people who are willing to assist a kid in need.

(Parenthetically but relatedly, I still do coaching and scripting with my bigger kids. Interactions are complicated, and a sample script can be really helpful in figuring things out whether you're a toddler or a teen. I am always willing to be rejected when I offer, but I often offer to get them started. When they were small the issue was "I don't know what to say to that girl on the slide but I'd like to play with her." Now it is the daunting pile of thank-you notes after the Eagle Court of Honor, the need for an apologetic email to a manager. They will nail their own words to the frame I provide, but they often seem grateful for the frame.)

Another anti-anxiety tactic is to watch the language you use in talking to them. You've probably read about the studies suggesting it's wiser to tell kids that they're persistent and resourceful instead of telling them that they're smart. Kids who've been told repeatedly that they're smart are more likely to worry, when they are tripped up by a thorny problem, that they've been unmasked at last. They're not actually smart, they think, even though they fooled the grownups for a while. (Is it obvious that I speak with the voice of bitter childhood experience here?) I think this is also good medicine for parents. The way you talk to and about your child influences the way you see your child. And confidence that your children are persistent, resourceful, resilient people is essential for your peace of mind in sending them out into the world.

Here is my last suggestion: be pleasantly vigilant, pleasantly adamant. Realistically, I think the biggest risks my children face on the streets are cars and aggressive dogs. And so I drill them on street safety when they are small, asking them to make judgments again and again and again until I am confident in their street sense. Almost all dogs are leashed in our community, but when I see an off-leash dog I am all over it -- pleasantly, but firmly. We had some minor issues last year with dogs owned by the student tenants in a nearby apartment building, and I placed a lot of calls to the building management and to the non-emergency police number. I said, "This is where my kids walk to school, and I would appreciate your help in keeping them safe." Everybody -- everybody -- is on board with that.

Anxiety is part and parcel of being a parent. We live in a world where a plane full of people -- every one of them somebody's beloved child -- can take off uneventfully on a beautiful September morning and lie broken on the ground not long afterward. In encouraging my children to exercise agency early and often, I am hoping that they will grow into adults who can muster courage and resourcefulness in the bleakest circumstances. It matters. Sometimes it matters a lot.

Part 3 and some follow-up bits and pieces

It starts with sidewalks

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!

Part 2 Part 3 and some follow-up bits and pieces

Done is complicated

I wrote that Done post a couple of weeks ago, about how I'm just going to go with the flow for a while on the free-range kids question. Stella is the only Gladly child left at the neighborhood grade school, and it changes things. I do not want to fight the battle with the after-school program in which I say, "My daughter is going to sign herself out every day at 4:15 and walk home, and that's flat," only to hear them say, "But think of the children!" Although she is perfectly capable of walking to ballet, that would be pushing the envelope on our neighborhood norms. Kids run around all the time without adult supervision -- every day as I am walking home I spot half a dozen kids playing outside with no adults in sight -- but going more than a couple of blocks alone is something that bigger kids do.

It turns out, though, that my ideas about "going with the flow" are not super flow-y. And I have inculcated this brood of kids with ideas about what they can do, and they seem to have been thoroughly indoctrinated.

Over the weekend we made the trek to the Chicago area, where we visited the Fox Valley Folk Festival. I love the FVFF. It's held on a little island in the Fox River, with a playground at one end and waterfowl all around. There's a big stage and a number of smaller stages, and a kids' tent, and lots of little jam sessions that spring up under the lovely old trees. The seven of us got there yesterday afternoon and agreed to meet in two hours. I said, "Stay on the island; do not go in the water. Be very polite." Stella was hanging out with Alex at first.

(Alex is 19 now, and sometimes we have differences of opinion on selected topics. These have included Socks (How Often Must They Really Be Washed?), Wet Towels (How Long Can They Be Left On The Hardwood Floor?) and College Classes (How Frequently Ought One To Attend?). But he is the very best big brother that my Stella could ever hope to have. She brings out his most patient, generous, thoughtful self, and my heart beats glad and grateful whenever I watch them together.)

They prowled around for a while together, and then she wanted to listen to a storyteller who didn't catch Alex's fancy. He told her she could sit quietly and listen without him, and she was super-proud of herself about that. In my view this is an excellent thing, for her to hear from her adored big brother that he knew she could conduct herself in public appropriately, and that she had nothing to be afraid of, and that she should sit and enjoy the story until he came back. So she did-- a pleasantly creepy story about bones crying out for justice.

The sticky bit is that it wasn't just our immediate family on the island. 

We were meeting a bunch of extended family there, with a bunch of different opinions about how and when kids should be left alone. When I found Stella with some cousins and others a bit later, I wondered if there might be a waft of disapproval in the air. And then at the end of the afternoon, when I was alone on the island with my two youngest kids, I didn't need to wonder any longer. Pete really wanted to hear Lee Murdock, and Stella really wanted to color at the kids' tent. These two sites were maybe 150 yards apart. I told Stella that she could not go wandering for any reason (<- this is me attempting to dial it back) and that she should not take any grief from any adult (<- this is me failing to suppress my true self). Fifteen minutes after the Lee Murdock set started, I went to check on her and found a relative nearby. 

Stella tells me that this relative had asked her a string of questions about what she was doing in the kids' tent. Did she know where her parents were? Was she sure? Was she absolutely sure? Did her parents know where she was? Was she sure? Etc. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm perfectly fine. My mom is right over there and she's coming back for me. Yes, I'm sure."

We left about 20 minutes later, but the encounter lingered in my mind as we sped toward Gladlyville. "Elwood," I called from the back seat, where I was sitting between the two littles, "tell me to chill out about this." "Chill out," he called dutifully from the front seat. Joe turned around from the middle seat. "Mom," he said incredulously, "are you really worried that it makes you a worse mom because you're teaching your kids to be independent?" He was obviously thinking, Because that's nuts. I hadn't thought, until I saw it in action yesterday, about the extent to which my boys' opinions about kids' capabilities have been shaped by my opinions about kids' capabilities. I love it, and at the same time it complicates the decision to say, "Wait, now we are going to go with the flow."

This particular extended-family relationship has some long-standing complexities. I can't shrug it off as I might a stranger's judgment (we all know I am SO AWESOME at letting go of strangers' opinions, as attested by the 8000 or so words in this category of my archives); I can't talk it through as I might with a friend because there are many layers of crud piled on top, like the relationship version of sedimentary rock. Maybe the problem is that I want to foster my kids' independence and I want everybody to like me. And I suppose, if I have to pick one of those two things, that I am going to pick Option A.

Done

My free-range parent mojo is MIA, friends, torpedoed by that 911 call last month. I'm just tired of fighting that battle.

A few weeks ago Stella and I were walking to the library together. There are road closures near our house, so we took an alternate route through an unfamiliar corner of campus. We were walking together along a low wall when she lost her balance and skinned her knee. There were tears and hugs and pats and bandaids, and she was still a little weepy when I said, "Look where we are, sweetie. Do you know how to get to the library from here?" Even while distressed -- even while bleeding -- she knew how to get oriented in an unfamiliar spot. She pointed unerringly, and then she picked herself up and started walking that way.

This, I think, is a skill worth having. And so it makes me sad that I don't actually plan for her to deploy her independent navigation skills this fall. She's doing a library program one afternoon each week, and a class at the downtown ballet studio on another day. She is absolutely capable -- 100% capable -- of getting herself there. But I am absolutely confident -- 100% confident -- that people will give her crap about it if she walks alone.

I'm tired of people giving my children crap.

I haven't even posted about all of it-- the times that Petely would ride his bike while I ran, and we'd agree on a meeting spot a half-mile away or so because he was faster than me, and when I got to the meeting spot there'd be hovering grownups asking if his mom knew where he was. YES, I know where my son is. YES, I have confidence in his ability to conduct himself appropriately in public for five whole minutes. And even though I've posted about a lot of it, I'm not sure how much of my anxiety comes through. I hate it that other parents feel free to tell my children their mother's decisions are "totally not okay." I hate it that my daughter's principal told her she shouldn't be walking to school. I hate it that my son's soccer coach drove him home repeatedly against my clearly expressed wishes and in spite of my signed waiver, saying, "I just can't let you do that, even if your mom says it's okay." 

This week I have been prepping a lecture on cognitive development across childhood, and I've been thinking a lot about how kids' abilities emerge. For vast swaths of human history we have been aware that 7-year-olds can handle a measure of independence, that they are learning to get around in the world. It is strange and wrong for 21st-century America to decree that this capacity does not actually exist, and that any attempt to exercise it will place children in grave peril. From a historical perspective it is genuinely bizarre that otherwise sensible adults around the country are calling the police and CPS on children because they are spending modest amounts of time without direct adult supervision.

If you've ever studied cognitive development you've read about Piaget's recognition that children around the world learn to uncover hidden objects at about 8 months old. (We can argue about his interpretation of this observation, but the pattern is consistent.) It seems to me that our current cultural craziness is like shouting at an 8-month-old, "Noooooo! Do not pull back the blanket! There might be a snake! or a worm! or a centipede! or a revolutionist!" (<-E. Nesbit shoutout) These abilities unfurl in kids because they need to build on them. What do we gain by suppressing them, other than a false feeling of security and a smug sense of superiority?

So. I signed my daughter up for the after-school program at school, instead of giving her a house key and an assurance that her brothers will be home 15 minutes after she arrives. I am adding her activities to the long list of things that require my presence, even though they should not actually require my presence. My husband says, "Jamie, you're right and they're wrong and this is important." It's true; I believe it. Even so, I'm done. I'm not done forever with this battle, but I'm done for right now. Because I can teach a kid how to be a safe and courteous pedestrian, I can teach a kid how to be a confident and flexible navigator, and I can teach a kid how to handle most of the surprises that might arise on the short trip to the library. But I cannot figure out -- and believe me, I've been trying -- how to shield my kids from "helpful" adults whose default response to an unaccompanied child is to call 911.

Again

This morning I went to a park near my parents' house to run. When I came back the kids were bursting to tell me what had happened. "Mom! Mom!" they said. "Someone called the police on Stella!"

My mother told Stella that she should go play outside. She took a walk around half of the block: up the alley and back down the street. My parents live in a quiet subdivision in the Nashville exurbs. Kids play unsupervised in their alley all the time.

This morning, however, someone saw Stella walking along the street back to my parents' house and -- without talking to her -- called the police to report a lost child. She had gone back inside when my father came looking for my mother. Three squad cars had pulled up in front of their house, and uniformed officers were telling him they needed to speak to Stella. They were nice enough, my parents said, but Stella was a little teary when she told me about it. She was afraid she had done something wrong.

I almost can't type for facepalming here. Wait, I need fingers on my elbows. People of America, put away your damn phones. Roll down your windows and open your mouths. You could say, "Hi, are you okay?" You could say, "Hi, is your mom around? or another grownup?" You could say, "Hi, do you need any help?" You could take SIXTY SECONDS and observe the actual child you are pretending to help. Is she crying and looking perplexed, or is she walking cheerfully and confidently toward her destination? If the latter, then for heaven's sake don't go screwing that up.

Calling the authorities is not a neutral decision. (Just ask the Darwins about that.) These two responses -- striking up a conversation vs. calling 911 -- are not equivalent. 

Open Letter

Dear Police Chief Jones:

I read your comments on public safety in New Albany (population 8,829) with the keenest interest. I was planning to let my 7-year-old daughter walk by herself to our neighbors' house, where she and her friends would play unsupervised in the attic. Thanks to your insights, however, I have seen the error of my ways and have equipped her for the day with more sensitivity to the horrors of the world we live in.

First off, a girl needs a flashlight to go outside. Even though she only has to cover 50 yards, one never knows when night may fall. (Well, some people pretend to know when night may fall, but you and I know better.) And in a world where every approaching stranger must be viewed as a probable kidnapper, it's important for a girl to have something heavy to fling at her assumed attacker's head as she runs away while shrieking "NOOOOOOO!" -- per your instructions at Safety Town. I am sure my neighbors (most of whom have formed the dangerous habit of sending their children outside unattended) will quickly understand the wisdom in my teaching my daughter to bean them with flashlights before she runs away screaming.

Next up: goggles. Although I have repented of allowing my daughter and her friends to play without direct adult supervision, it's important for adults to remember that even supervised play is only fun until somebody loses an eye. Barbie dolls have so many pointy bits! How has my daughter managed to survive for 7 years without causing herself irreparable damage in the pursuit of fun?

Goggles, however, do not provide sufficient eye protection. Thanks to your message of menace, I am casting a suspicious eye upon the sun. I've read that one day it will explode in a deadly fireball. And if that day is today, Chief Jones -- a prospect approximately as likely as that of a stranger abduction taking place in New Albany today -- my daughter will have sunglasses to shield her beautiful eyes. It's the responsible thing to do. 

With the hand that is not holding a flashlight, my daughter wields a fire extinguisher. As a man of your perspicacity doubtless knows, spontaneous human combustion is a risk we all face. A study mentioned at that link investigated 30 reported cases of spontaneous human combustion. Since this number is larger (by 30) than the number of stranger abduction cases reported in New Albany, I can only conclude that spontaneous human combustion is an event for which every child must be adequately prepared. (My daughter argues that these accoutrements leave her with no free hands for playing, but I have reminded her that safety is the first priority for every sensible parent.)

You will also notice that my daughter is sporting duck boots, a footwear choice prompted by Revelation 16:3. While imprudent parents might think it unlikely that Jesus will return while she's walking to the neighbors' house, it should be obvious to anyone that the odds of Our Lord's returning today are even higher than the odds of a stranger abduction in New Albany, OH. My daughter will not be walking through any rivers of blood in her sandals, no sirree! (She is attempting to tell me that the boots are (a) big enough for her 19-year-old brother and (b) uncomfortably hot on this 95-degree day, but I am sure she'll thank me later.)

Around her midsection she is swathed in bubble wrap; atop her head is (of course) a bicycle helmet. I have it on good authority that we need to beware of falling objects (see the definitive work from Little et al. on this topic), and so I have told my daughter that she is to keep her helmet in place until she leaves home for college. After all, I've been writing since before she was born about the idea that parents can't be too careful.

As I read your thoughtful words, Chief Jones, I thought to myself, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" They used to broadcast that important message over the airwaves all the time, back in the good old days when Ramona Quimby's mother drove her to kindergarten every day. No. Wait. I'm sure Ramona Quimby's mother meant to drive her to kindergarten every day. Probably she would have if she'd known the horrifying statistics on how many children die in motor vehicle accidents as compared to stranger abduction. 

Your comments have given me so much food for thought, Chief Jones. I can hardly wait for your ideas on fostering greater self-sufficiency among my undergraduate students. For some mysterious reason, many of them seem to think that adults should be telling them what to do.

Yours admiringly,
Jamie Gladly

Bookends

While I was lying next to Stella tonight I saw this link on Twitter about allowing your kids to take some risks. I found myself looking at it through two different lenses, imagining the reactions of 70s/80s parents ("Did they pay her to write a piece about how kids should climb trees and use tools? Doesn't everybody know that kids should climb trees and use tools?") and the reactions of 00s/10s parents ("It's only fun until somebody loses an eye, kids!") I'm a little surprised that there are no vituperative comments, because we are living in a world where letting your kid go up the slide at the playground is controversial.

The piece reminded me of a link I saw this morning on Facebook, full of finger-wagging about helicopter parents. Isn't it a little crazy that we're wagging our collective fingers at helicopter parents? We've created a culture in which helicoptering is the norm, and yet we seem surprised when parents hover. We live in a world where an astonishing number of people think that calling 911 is the best response to a child walking down the sidewalk without a parent. We live in a world where letting your kid climb up the slide at the playground (while paying attention to good manners, of course -- you can be adventurous without interrupting anyone's trip down the slide) earns you a heaping helping of side-eye and perhaps some pointed comments too ("In our family we know slides are for going down"). 

Kids will learn what we teach them. If we teach them that they cannot assess risk, cannot solve problems without direct supervision, and cannot bounce back from difficulties so they'd better avoid them altogether -- they will absorb those lessons. True fact: this is not a recipe for independence.

Ripple Effects

When I got a thousand words into that Sane Mom, Lonely Mom post, I figured it was time to quit. But I didn't actually make the point I started out to make, which is this: other people's over-caution keeps being an avoidable pain in my butt.

Back in 2013 I posted about the chess club coordinator's assertion that it was totally not okay for me to come and go from the chess tournament. I was supposed to be on the premises at all times, even though parents were banned from the actual matches and even though this rule was not included in any of the chess club materials from the preceding 8 years. The rule is now stated in the chess club materials (actual quote from last year's chess club orientation: "but we have lots of chargers, so you and the kids won't get bored while you wait!" -- surely I cannot be the only one put off by the vision it evokes of a roomful of people spending the day plugged into their devices because SAFETY FIRST), with the result that our kids didn't go to any tournaments last year. Recently we learned that because we elected not to spend our winter Saturdays hovering nearby at tournaments, making sure no one sustained any chess injuries, our kids would automatically be wait-listed for this year's chess club.

This is a shame, I think. 

The Daisy leader at Stella's school is that same mom, the one who said that it was "totally not okay" for me to check in intermittently with the well-behaved children who did not actually require any additional adult supervision that day. Stella would love to be a Daisy, but I...just can't do it with that mom. The thing I loved about being a Girl Scout was the independence it taught me: how to be alone in the woods without being needlessly frightened, how to light a fire in the rain with one match, how to cook a palatable impromptu meal with the banged-around dregs of my supplies.

You will notice that sitting quietly with an iPad, tethered to the wall by its cord, does not appear on the list of valuable skills I learned in scouting. 

Maybe I'm being hasty. Maybe I'm still too defensive about my "totally not okay" parenting. Maybe independence is actually high up on this other mom's list of priorities for her Daisies.

Maybe there are also a lot of chess-tournament-related injuries being averted by parents who look up from their phones at precisely the right moment to save their helpless children from the hazards of... never mind, I can't even imagine an ending for that sentence.

The school sent home a flyer from the nature club. It said, "No children are permitted to walk home after nature club meetings." I am going to guess that out of all the schools in the district, ours has one of the highest percentages of students who walk. Every morning and every afternoon, kids come streaming in and out on their own two feet. They don't get hit by cars; they certainly don't get kidnapped. And even there, the counterfactual but persistent message is sneaking through: it's safer for kids to ride in cars. Bad things might happen to them out on those dangerous sidewalks.

Sane Mom, Lonely Mom

Stella, who will soon be 7, likes to play in the rain. Sometimes she takes an umbrella outside; sometimes she wants to get wet. I suppose she could get mud stains on her clothes. I suppose she could get hit by a car because she misjudged the extra stopping distance that a speeding vehicle might require on wet streets. She could even get hit by lightning. Sometimes a storm comes sailing in more quickly than you might expect.

I always say yes when she asks to play in the rain. I am glad that she wants to be outside. I am glad that she's self-sufficient enough to enjoy her own company, curious enough to enjoy watching the worms writhe in the puddles, tough enough to view the rain as something to revel in rather than something to hide from. I'm not going to teach her to be afraid of rogue lightning bolts pelting out of nowhere in a slow November rain.

Stella's been walking to school alone recently. It's a half-mile walk through our quiet neighborhood. In the mornings there are lots of other kids walking to school too -- some with parents, some without. She had been walking with three of the boys from our block, but they were stressing her out. "They always talk about butts and stuff," she said with scorn. We walk together sometimes, but it doesn't work for me to do that every day. I was a little surprised the first day she said she'd prefer to go alone, but I knew she could handle it.

We walk a lot in our family. We practice: is it safe to cross now? What about now? How do you know? Which way should we go from here? We let the kids choose the route as soon as they show us that they have an inkling of where they're going. Recently I came across this old post about two-year-old Stella-- she's been walking to our neighborhood school without adult supervision, at least occasionally, for more than four years. 

So I was really bummed when she came home today and told me that the principal, who often greets the kids arriving in the mornings, thought she needed an adult to walk with her. "Because of the creek," the principal said.

I feel very sure that this is not about the creek. The creek is, no exaggeration, about two inches deep most of the time and there is a sturdy bridge across it. The principal knows my daughter well enough to know that she is not given to spontaneous swan-dive sorts of stupidity. I think "because of the creek" is code for "because unregistered sex offenders exist and sometimes they cruise near schools and throw kids in the trunks of their cars." 

I suspect she might also disapprove of Stella's playing in the rain. Nobody ever expects to get hit by lightning, you know. I suppose this shouldn't surprise me. I know from painful personal experience that people have strong opinions about 6-year-olds walking alone. I went looking for a stat that was floating around recently, about how something like 70% of Americans think a 13-year-old is too young to walk to school [except I made that number up -- feel free to correct me in the comments], and inadvertently dipped a pinky into the cauldron of crazy that belches forth mephitic misapprehensions whenever anyone starts talking about kids and independence. 

So I'm just going to say it again, friends: nothing good happens, ever, when we tell kids they are not capable of doing something developmentally appropriate. You'd never tie your toddler's ankles together just because he might get hurt walking. You'd never duct-tape your preschooler's mouth closed because he might say something embarrassing at Thanksgiving dinner. So why then, why why WHY are we telling grade-school kids that they must not cross the street or cross the bridge or walk to school without an adult? The thing that has changed since Ramona Quimby was crossing busy streets alone at age 5 is not kids' abilities; it's parents' perceptions of kids' abilities.

Back in the 90s when I refused to believe that Snackwells were a good idea, I felt like a contrarian. People were getting all freaked out about fat, which turns out to be important for flavor and satiety, and exacerbating the problem they wanted to avoid. Once in 1997 I wrapped up a box of favorite recipes for a bridal shower. As it was passed around after the bride-to-be opened it, I overheard one of the guests whispering to another: "Look how much BUTTER is in that brownie recipe! Can you believe that?!" I feel the same way now, frustrated by opposition to something that seems obvious and sensible to me. I want my daughter to know that she is competent, able to make reasonable decisions within a sphere that will widen year by year.

In the writing of this post I told Stella to go upstairs and put her pajamas on. She's been worried about being upstairs alone lately, worried about invisible spooky things looming in the closets. I keep encouraging her that there's nothing to worry about, but I also came upstairs with her tonight so she would feel safer. As we lay in her bed together I said, "Do you feel worried or comfortable about walking to school without me?" She said, "Comfortable. But isn't it weird that Mrs. Principal thought I needed a grownup?" 

The world is full of fearsome things. I will not be dismissive of her actual fears. And I categorically refuse to plant needless fears in her mind. I only wonder whether I can get the principal on board with that idea.

The Safety Cult

Oh, my friends, some days a person needs a duct tape helmet for prophylactic containment of her oft-exploded head. Every single time there's something on the internet about public breastfeeding, the comments are going to say, "Well, we don't POOP in public, do we?" And every single time there's something on the internet about free-range kids, the comments are going to say, "But BAD THINGS happen all the time." I hear you saying, "Why, Jamie? Why are you still reading the comments?"

Because, you guys, someone is WRONG on the internet.

Fallacy #1 is the most pernicious, I think, and I encountered it again in that Facebook conversation I was griping about in my last post. It's the idea that the world is swarming with wannabe perpetrators of stranger abduction. (Paging Bearing: you have an awesome quote in your archives somewhere (pulled from another blog, in one of your posts on this topic) about people living as if each child is assigned a would-be molester at birth. Can you help me track it down?) The person on Facebook said the Meitiv kids were doomed to be targets for child molesters now, because the perverts knew where to find them. Attention, world: it is exceedingly rare for childhood sexual abuse to work like that. The person to dread is almost certainly someone whom you have granted access, someone whom you have allowed to build trust with your child. Almost all of the time, childhood sexual abuse happens in the context of an existing relationship. It is easier to assume that nobody you know would harm a child. That assumption, unfortunately, is unwarranted.

Fallacy #2 is closely related: Because crime exists, your child is at risk of stranger abduction. I got this from the police officer who responded to my neighbor's call, as he pointed out sites of recent property crimes in the neighborhood. One of the things I appreciated about him was that when I said, "Property crime is in a completely different league from kidnapping," he said, "Yeah, that's true." This misperception is common, and I argue that it is poisonous. Wherever you go, there will be theft. Wherever you go, there will be vandalism and bad language. It's a fallen world. But it is simply not true that wherever you go there will be stranger abductions. Someone tossing an unsecured lawnmower in his trunk is a whole lot more probable than someone tossing an unsecured child in his trunk. The existence of A does not determine the odds that B will occur.

Fallacy #3: Kids will inevitably be scarred by adverse events. In that same Facebook discussion, a woman described a scary thing that happened to her and her siblings when they were left unattended. They started a fire...and then they put it out. You can tell that story as "so no one should ever leave kids unattended because they get in trouble" or you can tell that story as "kids can address problems swiftly and sensibly." Our current cultural narrative prefers the former option, as did the woman on Facebook. This is a really problematic preference. I cannot overstate the importance of teaching kids that they are capable of solving problems. If we say instead "But you might run into...A PROBLEM" in the same horrified tones we would use to say "But you might get...BUBONIC PLAGUE!" we teach them to doubt their own resourcefulness. And knowing that you are a resourceful person is one of the golden keys to living contentedly in a complex and difficult world.

Yesterday I followed a totally unrelated link and ran across this quote:

...Groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.”

In most other arenas, when people spout harmful fallacies and call them facts, and discourage independence and independent thinking, and insist that Really Bad Things will happen to dissenters (and that the dissenters will deserve them, hahaHA), we call it a cult. And yet somehow when it comes to 21st-century parenting, we call it normal.

P.S. to my more cautious readers (hi, Gina!): I wrote this last night and didn't hit publish because it is more inflammatory than my usual offerings. My point here is not that anyone ought to give her particular child more of a particular kind of freedom: you know your child better than anyone else, and you know your corner of the world better than I do. What I find objectionable is the assumption that I can't see my child clearly, that a stranger looking in from the outside can determine, based on faulty premises, whether I should be turned over to the state for neglectful parenting. Live and let live, that's all I'm asking.

Costs

Danielle Meitiv's comment hits close to home: "CPS has finally succeeded in making me terrified to let my kids out unsupervised," she says. "I'm afraid they're going to take them away." That's a lot like what I said in 2008: that the neighbor who reported me to CPS had sparked a series of events that my kids all found far more stressful than being told to walk home alone.

What happens with the Meitivs' kids remains to be seen. For my own part, I get weary of pushing back. Do you remember last fall, when the soccer coach didn't want Pete to walk home from practice? We haven't fought that battle this season. Some of it was that he needed someone to walk him through the route a time or two, because it's not a park we visit much these days. But really, it was mostly about the grownups. Having my judgment repeatedly questioned is frustrating, and wearying, and...it's easier just to jump in the car. 

I am typing that and thinking, "What a horrible defeatist attitude! Aren't you supposed to be pushing back?" But here's the reality: sometimes it's hard to be the only kid who's walking home. Sometimes it's hard to be that kid's parent. Sometimes there is only so much space in my head.

I left a comment on a Facebook post about the Meitivs, challenging a commenter who said she had no sympathy at all for them. Six-plus hours of needless worry, hungry kids, frantic parents -- but nobody in that scenario deserves sympathy. They should have listened to the authorities, you know.

Meanwhile my 6-year-old and my 10-year-old walk themselves to and from school every day, almost always unaccompanied by an adult. Sometimes when I imagine someone reporting me for negligence based on that decision I think, "Go ahead. Bring it." Mostly, though, I think, "Please don't. Just don't, okay?"

Dispatches

I am writing this missive from the front lines in the Sane Mom Revolution. My 12yo is running track this spring, and he has been a little dismayed to see how quickly fitness ebbs across a winter spent watching Great British Bake Off. He's been asking if he could make a weekend trip to the university track to run intervals. He recruited Pete, who is not quite 10, to hold the stopwatch. 

"Can we go?" he asked me as I chopped onions this evening? "Right...now?" I said. "Yep," Joe answered. "We were going to ride our bikes."

The university track is less than a mile from our house, along a street that is moderately traveled: not so much traffic that you'd worry about cars, not so quiet that you'd worry about nefarious activities going unwitnessed. They know the way. There should be ample spring light. My husband would say yes without a second thought. 

I had to think for a minute. Bike crashes. Busybody neighbors. Sibling conflict that invites a bike crash or a busybody's intervention. I had to weigh the risks against the value of the experience: the step forward in getting around independently, in working toward a goal with no adult breathing down your neck.

I said yes, go ahead.

Joe said, "It's public, right? We don't have to worry about anyone telling us we can't be there?" 

I said, "It's fine for you to be there as long as no university teams are practicing. And don't let anybody give you any guff. Be polite, but don't be afraid to say, 'My mom said it was fine for us to be here.'"

I am still kind of waiting for the police to ring the bell.