The Free Range Childhood

I see a lot of people on social media glorifying their childhoods. Whether you were raised in the sixties, seventies or eighties there is a nostalgia about how great life was way back when. The laziness. The freedom. The sheer fun. I have incredibly fond memories of my younger years as well. The pictures people post conjure up images of what we consider to be a simpler time. The stories, regardless of the decade, are some I can certainly relate to. The super long cord on the wall phone that allowed me to have private conversations halfway up the stairs. Having a bike got me to my friends house quicker but it was more than that. The wind on my face as I sped down a road on a high hill. Sleeping outside in the summer beside the firepit. Or even on the veranda. Taking the stereo outside in the summer to listen to records. I have to admit, I had a lot of fun when I was young. But there was also the quiet time. Reading by flashlight. Hiding out in the motorhome just for solitude. Pretending. Always using my imagination for play. Even my teen years are a hazy mishmash of pleasant memories.

We do have a tendency to cherry pick our memories. Either good or bad. I tend to remember the good stuff. Mainly because it gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. There were unpleasant happenings that ranged from mild to down right heartbreaking. I don’t forget them or pretend they didn’t happen. Rather, I just don’t dwell on them. I find reliving past hurts isn’t productive. It hurts just as much the second time around and I have no time for that. That being said, I find I see things a little different when it comes to the past. I don’t believe things were so much better way back when. And, I don’t believe in throwing it in young peoples faces that my childhood was superior. Here is why. I controlled the childhood of some of those younger people. Telling them my life was better, simpler, more, fun… Means my parents did a better job. It means I sucked as a parent because I knew what a great childhood was and yet I chose to deny it for my offspring.

Going onto social media and bragging about all of the great things the young people missed out on is really about reminiscing. And we don’t need to try and make someone feel bad in order to feel good about our own lives. Just reminisce. The people who remember your pictures, videos and ideas will still like your posts. No need to bring in other age groups. Besides, remember how old and pathetic you used to think your parents were? You are now that old pathetic old person. You think you are making the young folk jealous but you are just cementing their views of you. I worked with a guy years ago. After he had his first child he went on and on about how he was going to be a different Dad than his father. His Dad was old and boring. He was young and cool. Now this fellow was 36 when his son was born. I asked how old his father was. 60. A pathetic old man who became a Grandfather at 60. But if you do the math (like I always do) his father was 24 when he himself was born. The point is our kids think we are old no matter how old we really are. Pretending we are young? Just makes us look desperate in the eyes of the truly young.

The most important point though I would like to make is this. Parents are in control of their child’s life. We make the decisions on how much freedom they have. Their autonomy or lack thereof, is entirely in our hands. If you valued your childhood based mainly on freedom then you alone can grant your children that freedom. I really don’t care to hear the arguments that life is so dangerous today. Helicopter parents are afraid. So they overcontrol. Sadly, they pass along their fears to their children but they also pass along resentment at the control. I remember when my oldest was eight. Britt wanted to walk to the 7-11 alone. It was a six block walk on fairly busy residential streets. I let her go with strict instructions on crossing at crosswalks and coming straight back. I watched her leave and then promptly strapped her baby sister into her snuggly and followed Britt. All the way there I lurked behind trees and electrical poles. I hovered near an alleyway across the street from the store. When she came out and starting skipping her way home I realized I was screwed. How could I watch her and get home before she did. Plans abandoned, I took an alternate route, zig zagging home, speed walking so I didn’t juggle the baby. I had to leave Britt to her own devices in order to cover my own deception. I was more concerned about her seeing my lack of trust. Suddenly her safety went out the window. But in the back of my mind, I knew she was going to be okay. Frankly following her was boring, but my heart swelled as I felt through her, my own carefree childhood.

When I ride my motorbike I get a glimpse of my youth. The wind in my face. The absolute freedom of getting somewhere, anywhere, fast. I rode for fun back then and that is what a motorbike is. Riding for fun. We chose a destination just to have an opportunity for a journey. When our kids walk to their friends house alone, just to ask if they can play, it’s really an excuse to be alone and control what they do. For a short time. It is faster and more efficient to call or text. But that’s not the objective. When a chid wants to walk or ride their bike somewhere it is always about the freedom in the journey. Oh sure, they buy a treat at the convenience store on their walk, but that isn’t the goal. Children know that in the home their control is limited. Parents are ultimately no different than benevolent dictators. Hopefully mainly benevolent. My house my rules. I had a lot of freedom but there were also expectations. Chores mainly. Everyone needs to pitch in whether it is society of a family unit. I hated chores but I also knew they were closely related to my freedom. So I did pre-emptive strikes. Work before being asked. Kids need freedom in order to learn how to make decisions. Allowance with no strings attached teaches fiscal responsibility. Respecting a child’s closed door teaches them their privacy is valued. Allowing them to chose their own clothes at a young age is huge. They start to develop their own style and personality. Freedom to chose.

I was a young Mom so I was kind of stupid, but it allowed me to parent in a very hands off way. Not all of my children agree with how they were raised. My oldest believed she would have strived more in life if she had been pushed. Her children are raised in a more controlled manner. Her sisters kids are very free range. The second daughter would have pushed back on any form of control. My son doesn’t have children so I can’t comment to his views. Or tendencies. I do know that my kids had the ultimate in freedom and it started at a young age. I made mistakes as we all do but in the early formative years I believe I gave my kids the experiences I valued as a child. So to all of you out there who think your childhood was great, you have the ability to give that to your kids. If it sucked, change your style. But if it was like most peoples lives, concentrate mainly on what you loved and see if it lines up with you kids personalities. I loved to read and no one made me play sports at a young age. As I aged I found I was good at some sports and no one said I couldn’t play. I loved solitude and no one forced me to go outside of my comfort zone. If I wanted to try something, ways were found to make it happen even when lack of funds was an issue. We gave our kids opportunities and then let them decide their own path. I loved my childhood. I think my kids loved theirs. Our journeys were and are different. Was it simpler way back when? Perhaps. But that’s because we were kids. It wasn’t all that simple or easy for our parents. And it wasn’t easy for us as young adults. And young parents now have their own share of issues. Look back with fondness to your past but understand that if it was great it was in large part due to the people who raised you. Society steps in at a point but parents are truly the first to decide our fates. There is no need to feel sorry for your kids because your life was better. Make theirs better. Not sure how? Ask them. That’s the greatest gift a parent can give a child.