Your childhood
Chances are, your childhood was not all about fear and huge “What if…”s. Chances are you walked to school and rode your bike and stayed out till the lights came on, right? Maybe you even ate an unwashed grape. Tell us about your freedom, and especially: The moment you felt most grown up.
And, if you’d like, tell us how you’re trying to give your kids that same kind of independence.
I flew from Minneapolis to Florida by myself several times and to Green Bay every summer from age 6 to about 10. I also rode the bus to school, stayed home after school without a sitter or parent and mowed the lawn and SURVIVED. I am not a parent, but it seems like parents are going a little crazy with the amount of overprotection. Picking up and taking kids to school, not letting them go trick or treating or selling girl scout cookies. Take it easy people.
In about 1955 or 1956 I was enrolled in kindergarden in a local church for the summer. Instead of going to the school I would set out every day as though I was going to school, but would go with my dog up into the brown hill a few blocks from my home and have adventures.
My mom called the school at the end of summer to see how I was doing and was told that I never showed up.
One of many many adventures I had as a child in Boise.
After my mother showed me the way twice, and my father taught me how to navigate city grids and subway concourse if the weather was bad, I took the train into Philadelphia and walked to the orthodontist by myself a couple times a month for four years from the age of 9. During those years my city free range quickly expanded to include the main library,several museums and parks. I shared this with friends. At the age of 16 a mother flipped when we asked her daughter to join 5 of us planning a trip to a museum. She was so upset by the idea of us “going alone”, she tried to convince all our mothers they were nuts to let us go into the city “alone”. I was also a “latch key” kid from 4th grade on, when my mother went back to work.
I just heard about your article on Talk of the Nation on NPR, and I was reminded of the freedom I had as a kid. When I was eight years old I wanted to go to a friends house about a mile and a half away. My mom always drove me, but as I became more experienced riding a bike, I asked if I could ride there. She said I could and so with my helmet on, I made my 1st journey outside my neighborhood and across a busy street to see my friend. I didn’t find out till years later that my mom had followed behind me in the car to see if I was carefull. From then on my friend and I had free range of a 2 mile radius on our bikes, riding to the local park with lunches we packed ourselves. As I continued listening, one of the listeners to the show told a story about how he took the subway to go see a baseball game to his mom’s suprise. I did a similar thing. As I got older, I pretty much just stayed in that same area as when I was eight, expanded to 4 miles. One day looking at a map, I realized that one of the main roads by our house went right by the library that we went to in the next town over. I casually told my mom that I was riding to Roseville, and headed out. I rode the 10 miles there and realized that I forgot my library card. I guess they called my mom from the library because when I got home she said, ” you said you were going to Roseville but I thought you were kidding”. The freedom that I enjoyed as a kid changed the way I think. I never felt like distance, or weather, or anything else could stop me from doing somthing, and not that I could do it if my parents drove me, but I could be independent.
A few of us took a train to NYC from Hartford, Ct one Saturday for the day just because we could and the price was cheap (around 1966). I don’t think any of our parents knew of this but on a normal Saturday we were normally out playing ball, fishing, hanging out all without an adult in sight.
When I was six, I had to navigate my way home from school using city buses in Miami. It was never a big deal.
Count me amongst the rational thinkers who are floored at how much we coddle our children in this country. And it’s because we live in a culture of fear.
This website has inspired me today. In a few minutes I’m going to go tell my 6-year-old son he can walk home the four blocks between his classroom and our house by himself. He’s been asking to do it for a few months, and there’s no reason not to allow him that freedom.
First off, thanks for a healthy dose of reality.
In 1982, I went for a plane ride by myself for the first time. I flew to see my Grandmother in Mississippi. I was flying in to Tennessee and she was meeting me there with some friends for the drive to her home. I remember sitting next to a jovial man who jokingly suggested we should switch destinations and that I should debark at Little Rock. While he was certain my Grandmother would be delighted to see him, I remember telling him he was not a suitable replacement for a five year old girl and that my Grandmother would be quite disappointed.
I grew up as a military brat in the 80’s and after my trip to see my grandparents, we moved to College Park, MD. I was a proud kindergartener who walked to school just over a half mile away from our house. I walked with my older brother (he was seven, turning eight very soon) and any of the other kids who we came across on our way. We crossed a significantly busy road to get there, it wasn’t a big deal.
When Mom took a part time job, I remember walking from the school to her work in the afternoon- it was very close by-right next to the beltway.
We rode bikes without helmets and I went EVERYWHERE on my roller skates. My grandmother still has pictures of me hanging from the top of a METAL jungle gym wearing what? My skates. In the winter, we rode down the tall snow-covered hill just behind our house on a thin plastic toboggan or a trash can lid.
After I turned eight, we moved to Panama. We lived in the capital city for a while but then moved to the Army base. While we lived in the city, my brother and I walked by ourselves from the bus stop to our house. Once we moved on base, we walked to school or rode our bikes. One of our favorite past times was wandering around in the tract of rain forest behind our house. When we weren’t there, we were riding our bikes clear to the other side of the base or to the base pool. On family vacations, we swam in the ocean. There weren’t any nets 1/4 mile from shore and we didn’t wear life jackets. There are many more stories about things we did in those days but, we’re trying to liberate kids here so, I’ll leave the careless ones out.
I remember our parents bought a van so that my brother and I would have more room to move around in during road trips.
How many kids (now) will have any stories to tell their kids? I am glad to know that your son will have stories to tell. Hopefully, my daughter will have stories to tell too and be just as confident, but not as dumb, as I was!
Wow. Talk about a timely web find for me. I just had this conversation with a friend who has a 6 yo daughter, and I assured her that much of all this child-abduction thing is overblown thanks to the 24-hour news cycle.
I have a 3 yo daughter, and I now live in a small town very close to the school. A block away, actually. My friend lives in a similar town outside of Boston, and she too lives a block away from her school, and yet she walks her daughter there every morning. I asked her why she does it. You can practically see the school from her front door. And it’s all about the fear.
I just can’t see the rationale of having to escort my kid that short distance. My childhood was filled with a lot of time exploring the neighborhood and the nearby woods alone and with friends. I caught polliwogs, played baseball in sandlots, climbed trees, rode my bike into the center for ice cream, or just went to friends houses. By myself!
I walked to school over a mile by myself or with friends.
When I was 13, I took my first long bus ride to Boston, Mass. to visit my sister. I never expected my parents to hold my hand during playtime.
Lenore, you’re the best. GREAT idea for a site.
I am now in my sixties and remember clearly being allowed to ride the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan to watch the NY Rangers at the old Madison Square Garden. I was only 8 years old at the time and was always allowed to play in the street until the sun went down.
I had to wait until I went away to a safe sleep away camp to meet the man who was going to molest me.
I am grateful to my parents for allowing me to develop as an individual at an early age. It has made me a much more aware adult, who has no trouble navigating big city life.
We rode our bikes everywhere. The big adventure was when we allowed to ride two hours to school and back (only on Fridays). We played at the beach, on and around traintracks, in the big mud pond and salt marsh. And it was our dad who told us to go skating on the pond and pulled us on sleds behind the Jeep. It was also our dad who said never get in a car with a stranger because if anything bad happened to us, it would kill him. Kind of narcissistic but a useful boundary.
Independence and adventures already had, I believe, allowed me not to be drawn in by the man who handed me his card outside the Plaza in New York and said, “You should be a model. Come to my studio.”
Some kids I meet seem to be looking so hard for connection outside the close boundaries of their lives that they are more easily seduced by what’s ‘forbidden’. Teaching kids good judgement and letting them know you have confidence in their judgement seems as important as the bike helmet.
In 1961, at the age of eleven, I boarded a commercial prop airplane in Nashville for a flight to DC to visit aunts and uncles. I remember that flight like it was yesterday. Actually, since I had a big sign on my chest that read “minor, traveling alone”, I got outstanding treatment from the airline and the crew.
My greatest adventure would come later as my aunt, working for the Department of the Interior at the time, would drive into work in the morning and I would later ride the bus into DC (from Alexandria), spend the afternoon wandering around and visiting the sights, and ride back to Alexandria in the evening with my aunt.
It was great fun, and to this day, I love to travel alone.
I have friends in my suburban town, who would never dream of letting even their high school kids go into Boston alone on the commuter rail.
However, when I was in high school, I had to get myself from the South Side of Chicago to downtown Chicago on public transit. Took a train to a bus to school. By the end of my freshman year, I could get anywhere, tell you exactly which bus to take, had the rail schedule memorized. And I had no cell phone. I missed a train once or twice. My mom did not freak out and call the cops. She waited for the next train, which she knew I would be on, and then let me know that she would rather I not miss the stated train. When my kids hit middle school range, they get a T pass and a boot out the door - go explore!
My childhood was free, really truly the freest time of my life. I look back at my elementry school years so fondly. Out until dark at the playground, playing in abandoned houses, running in packs… My sister and I would walk for 45 minutes downtown to iceskate all day long and grab a bus home at dark, we were 11 and 12 respectively. I’m 28 years old now and it’s crazy how fast this “shielding” thing has caught on. I personally don’t see how caging up your kids will do them much good. Put me in a tough situation, put me in danger and my mind is working on an out. I learned by having freedom as a kid that I needed to trust my intuition and be aware of my surroundings. My cousins were very overprotected and they live in fear of something bad happening all the time. Hell they won’t even live in “the big city” for fear of violence and theft. Have fun with that…. My independence taught me to take risks and also know when to draw the line. I have lived quite the exciting life without fear getting in the way. I will be giving my daughter the gift of freedom, free range baby all the way!
~Rory
I remember walking to the book mobile during the summers when I was 10 and 11 years old. There wasn’t a public library branch nearby, so the traveling version was my best bet. The book mobile stopped at the jr. highschool and was a good 30-45 minute walk from my house. I had to cross a highway, a field, a creek and a neighborhood to get there.
I was the youngest of four children and my parents were believers in “free range” childhoods. Between those two factors, I had a lot of room to grow, explore and test the water as a child. I don’t recall feeling a sense of accomplishment or pride because of any particular independent adventure because it was the norm for me.
I do, however, remember walking to the book mobile, taking my time picking out the books I wanted and walking back home. All the while feeling very sophistocated and grown up because it felt like such an academic thing to do with your summers.
As a side note, I traveled internationally for the first time by myself when I was 19. I had no real plan, no itenerary and no idea what I was doing. But I was confident that I could figure it all out and for that I thank my parents.
My fatehr was a pilot wiht a major airline, so we could fly for free anywhere. since I was 6 I was dropped on planes to meet relatives onteh other side ofhte flight. When I was 10 I was allowed to change planes by myslef, in Dallas, flying with stand by passes, I was often bumped by somone in a higher class. Spenign the night in JFK waiting for a flight at 11 years old was fun. AT 11 I was trianing adults about flights and times of flight and how to make it home. By 14 I was flying around the world with my brother from Miami to Germany, London, New York DC, we even flew across the country to see moives while we waited for connections. The people I met and things I did helped me grow. My wife will not let my 8 year old cross the street alone….
I think you’re approach is the right approach. We allow ourselves to be far too influenced by the sensationalism of the media. For example, when I was a kid a snow storm was a snow storm. We lived in Michigan, duh, it snows in the winter. Now every time there is a prediction of snowfall you’d think that we were entering the big freeze. Rain was rain. Now it’s a severe weather event.
We used to run around the neighborhood playing capture the flag until way after dark. We used to swing from ropes tied to tree limbs and play Tarzan. We used to wander through the woods to a local pond to catch sunfish. We used to walk or ride our bikes two miles to the dime store downtown. We are still here today.
There used to be things called accidents. An unfortunate event that no one blamed others for. Now all accidents have become criminal. Cities are fencing off old watering holes to avoid liability. You can’t bring a blow up mattress to the public beaches at Lake Michigan.
Helicopter parents now call professors to complain about grades their kid got in GRADUATE school. Some even call corporate HR offices to find out why their kid didn’t get a job.
All this obsession, over-protection, coddling for the benefit of our kids? I don’t think so. It’s about time we relaxed a little, provided guidelines, allowed for learning through mistakes and failure and taught our kids to take responsibility for their actions. Enough is enough.
I’m from a small town, so some people may argue that my experience was different….but I don’t think so.
Starting in Kindergarten (1990) I would walk to school without adult supervision…not totally alone, since several classmates and I would meet up along the way and walk together. Once I got to be about 8, I was riding my bike wherever I wanted to go, usually within a mile of home. The neighborhood kids and I used to always play capture the flag and hide and seek together after supper in the summer and I wasn’t expected home until dark. The only place my parents didn’t like me going alone was a certain park, because there was a convicted sex offender living nearby…but going with friends was ok.
As a result of this ‘neglect’ on the part of my parents, all of my childhood memories include sunny days and bike rides with the wind blowing on my beaming face…feelings of happiness and freedom.
When we were kids and ran the neighborhood in 1959 till 1969, WE WERE THE TROUBLE!
My fondest memories of my childhood are those of when I was riding my bike with my best friend - just the two of us. We’d ride all over our little town, two little 10 year old girls. It was such a great sense of freedom. We’d go to the corner store and get provisions for the day (mostly candy) and then ride to the beach, cemeteries, parks, everywhere. I hope my future kids can experience life like I did.
What a breath of fresh air. You definitely are rising above the “terror” or “paranoia” that is being pushed down the throats of most individuals by the mass media channels and “sheep” following their lead.
I remember very well as a child of nine speaking with my Dad and wanting to go to the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition) in Toronto, Canada. Now he was very much of the mind that he didn’t want to have to chauffeur my sister and I around town whenever we wanted to go and do something. He asked me to work out the budget for how much money we would need and when we would be home. My sister and I, she being six at the time, figured out that we would need $60.00 for the day for transport, food, games and rides. I told my Dad what our budget was and he promptly gave me the $60.00 and I told him we would be home no later the 7:00 pm and would call if we were going to be late.
We left the house, rode our bikes to the GO train station, and took the train to the CNE were we proceeded to have remarkable day. We went on all sorts of rides, roller coasters and such. Played the carnival games and won a gigantic Teddy Bear.
At one point we wanted to go to the water park area, but didn’t know what to do with our personal belongings, so we hid them in this park location. Our money that we had was carefully tucked away under a rock, which we thought was a brilliant a very safe location. The water park was great with many kids our own age playing, sliding down the slides, water-gun fights, etc. After our exhausting time on the slides we went back to our secret location and of course everything was still there.
We ended up being a little bit late getting back home that evening, but just like we agreed called and communicated to our Dad that we would be late.
Nothing happened to us. I took care of my sister and we had wonderful time that I will remember forever. My parents were so willing to give me independence and thus my responsibility level came up.
I loved my childhood it is filled with many pleasure moments like the above.
It is great that you are standing up for what you believe in. To you it might seem common place, but remember you are setting a good example for others.
I do believe that the more kids are held back, told they can’t do it, the more they start to believe this and fall into a pattern of no responsibility.
Sincerely,
Thatcher Stokes
I think this is great. I learned to ride a bike at about age 9 or 10 and spent my summers exploring the woods and streams behind our house in the cul-de-sac and behind the church with friends in the old glass bottle dump. I rode my bike and walked my dog all the time through the woods. If I was going over to a friends’ house, my parents wanted to know when I would be home but not much more than that.
I was shocked the time I came home a freshman from an out-of-state college, said “I’m going to take the dog for a walk down by the stream,” and my dad said, “you shouldn’t go; there’s abducters down there.” I said, “dad, I have a dog, new martial arts training, a cellphone, and in the hundreds of times I’ve been down there I’ve never seen any abducters, only a couple interesting deer skeletons.” They just sit at home and watch the media all day.
Keeping kids at home won’t make them any safer; it doesn’t give them any experiences (gently controlled or otherwise) so that they can learn to make their own decisions and judgments about people and situations, and grow their own sense of what feels ok and when things feel off.
I just want to chime in as a 33 year old man raised by a single Mom. I am not married, have no kids, but living in a big city (Calgary, Alberta) I see plenty of “free range” kids roaming the transit system every day.
It is uncommon to see them get flustered or witness hesitation or inaction but it does happen. What do I do? Nothing…. I am a good man. Honourable and just, I figure. Heterosexual and interested only in grown women, thank you. But I feel like I can’t even talk to kids, or at least hold their hand and comfort them until things get straightened out. Perhaps help arrange for a new transfer if theirs is expired. My brother and sister both have kids and I love my neices and nephews and help them any way I can. But heaven forbid a “strange MAN” tries to help a child these days.
What if someone sees me being nice? What will my fellow bus riders think if I even dare to speak to a minor? I feel awkward if I even so much as make a funny face to make a kid laugh. I see women my age and younger; possibly mothers, probably not, execercise the luxury of having fun with kids publicly. I, simply, cannot. The risks are too great.
I applaud the author and encourage the spirit of independence and self reliance but times have changed. Maybe not for the 10 year old trying to make a place for themselves in this world, but things sure have changed for a young man in the 21st century.
Keep fighting the good fight and be sure to tell your kids that not all men are cold blooded miscreants. Some dudes like me are simply interested in playing a game of “Whats your name? My name is Mud” on the bus.
I grew up in a small town which neighbored a major metropolitan area. Every day after school and all during the summer, my brother and I and our friends would hop on our Sting-Rays and ride all over town. Our parents had no idea where we were, or what we were doing–their only rule was, “Be home in time for dinner.” They probably figured we couldn’t go far, but in retrospect, we rode our bikes farther than most people drive in a day–we explored every inch of our town, and the neighboring town, and the town beyond that. We’d ride down to the beach or along the cliffs above it, where we’d get chased by dogs or find shopping carts and truck tires and roll them off into the abyss. We’d hike into the nearby state park, look for bats in the caves, tease rattlesnakes, catch frogs in the creek, explore the storm drains and the flood-control dams, and one summer we discovered a swing someone had made from a stolen fire hose. I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun as I did back then–our ages ranged from seven to twelve, and we had total freedom.
One summer evening as I pedaled home, a decrepit Oldsmobile screeched to a stop as I began to cross the street. An unkempt, bearded man leaned out the window and called to me, “Hey, where’s Elm Street?” I pointed in its general direction, and then he said, “Come here for a sec.” I instinctively knew something wasn’t right, and then he suddenly opened his door and began to rush at me. I stamped on the pedal, bunny-hopped onto the sidewalk, and pedaled as fast as I could back to the town pharmacy, the nearest and most well-lit place that was open and full of people. I read comic books for an hour, and then raced home without stopping. I put my Schwinn in the garage and walked in just as my mom was placing a bowl of ravioli on the table. My father looked at me and said, “Well, look who’s back! We were just about to put your picture on a milk carton.” As I washed my hands, my mom asked, “Where have you been all this time?”
“Oh, just riding my bike.” I said.
I lived in the country. By the time I was 8 or 9, (this is the early ’90’s) I was spending hours by myself out in the woods and fields, far out of ear shot of the house. During the weekends and summer vacations I’d be gone most of the day, just me and the dog. I’d even go on night hikes. Just me and the dog and a flashlight (usually turned off) in the forest. It was beautiful and peaceful in a way I find hard to duplicate now that I’m an adult.
By the time I was 10 or so, and my parents trusted my bike etiquette, I could go anywhere I wanted by bike. Usually this meant riding on a fairly busy highway.
One of my favorite memories of summer was when I was 12 I rode my bike 3 miles to a friend’s house, we rode horses for hours (without adults around), then I biked home again.
I had my fair share of falls, cuts and scrapes, but despite all my hiking, biking, swimming, tree climbing and horseback riding, I somehow got through childhood without a sprain, broken bone, or set of stitches. I don’t know if that’s luck, but it happened without my parents watching my every move. The worst injury I ever had as a child was a corneal abrasion that happened on the school playground while several adults were supervising recess.
I grew up in a small-ish town in central Wisconsin in the 1970s. In warm weather, I biked everywhere (usually barefoot and what’s a bike helmet?) and in cold, walked (with the usual common sense layers of clothing protection sans Gortex since it hadn’t been invented yet). We biked or walked to school — a mile and a half — even if rain and snow. Mom said it built character (which it does).
We played outside constantly — in sun, rain, especially snow, and often in the big “pit” near our house. Broke my leg sledding in that pit, too. Whoop-do-doo…kids break bones. Quite the badge of honor in the 2nd grade! I also cut my knees, elbows, legs and other various body parts on rusty jungle gyms, curbs, while skating, while recklessly biking (which I did a lot), even while playing in gym class, and much more.
Got the occasional stitches and tetanus shot, but I also managed to do that at 38 years old when a roofing nail went through my shoe while walking through a parking lot. My friend’s first reponse was “be sure to get the store manager’s name so you can be prepared when you sue them.” Huh? I don’t sue people. Not my style. And my insurance covered the doctor’s visit anyway.
As a kid, I also climbed trees, got intentionally lost in the woods near my house, drank out of the garden hose, ate unwashed fruit and veggies (sometimes fresh out of the neighbor’s garden), probably managed to injest my share of raw or undercooked meat and eggs (especially at Girl Scout camp where we didn’t know what the hell we were doing cooking over that campfire), swam endlessly in the pools that others had probably peed in, ate tons of snow (especially when my brother gave me a face washing of it) and played with the toads that would take up residence in the basement window wells.
I got every childhood illness I could manage, usually coming and going. I didn’t have perfect attendance at school until the 8th grade because I was usually sick a couple times a year. But as an adult, my immune system is spectacular and I haven’t had the flu in five years (knock on wood). Granted, I wash my hands a lot but I also work in a building with a medical clinic just below my office.
And you know what? I lived. I’ve THRIVED, in fact. I’m much more willing to take risks, to try new things, to explore what’s over the next hill just because it’s there. Yes, I’m attentive to my own personal safety, but I don’t take it to the extremes; I use common sense. Which I’m convinced isn’t so common anymore.
I don’t have kids of my own yet and I’m driven to distraction by all this child safety stuff. I can’t wait to raise free range kids of my own! Thanks for bringing some sanity back!!!
I was born in 1980. I flew from California to Ohio at least twice a year by myself (with plane changes in the middle of the country!) starting when I was 8. I started walking a few blocks to the local grocery store and doing the family shopping the same year. I walked a half mile to school every day starting when I was seven. My parents knew I was responsible enough to be home alone when I was 9 or 10.
When I was in elementary school, my friends and I would hop on our bikes and ride anywhere we wanted. Our parents knew we were smart kids and that we would be back a little after nightfall. I never broke a bone or got kidnapped. In fact, the only two times I was seriously injured as a child happened inside my house when my parents were home.
When I was 10, my best friend rode our bikes for miles every day, just exploring the city. We’d stop at the library, buy candy at a liquor store, play in the park, watch people hit balls at a driving range, pretend to be detectives looking for clues to a crime, go swimming, and that would be just one summer evening. Thinking back on it reminds me of the endless creativity we had and the endless opportunities we had for play.
I grew up in a city of 300,000 people, so I wasn’t living in some perfect Mayberry. I feel sorry for younger kids. How are they supposed to really enjoy childhood when they always have a parent hovering over their shoulder? My (much) younger brother lives in an (objectively) safer and much wealthier neighborhood but he has none of the privileges I had. He is not allowed to walk two blocks to his best friends house alone, and he is 12. I wish he could have grown up in my world instead of the paranoid one we have now.
As far as child abductions go, remember that the vast majority of child abductions are committed by family members. Stranger abductions are extremely rare, but they always make the evening news.
When I was 11 (1972-ish) I had every public bus schedule for San Diego county in a thick rubber banded stack that I kept in my shoulder bag at all times.
For 25 cents I could explore my city and county at will. As long as I was home by dark, my weekends were entirely up to my whims. But mom would often give a buck before I set out, for snacks and phone change (if I needed it!)
Balboa Park was my favorite destination. It was the epicenter of culture, with all these great museums and of course, the famous zoo. Being 11 was a bonus since most of the venues were free to those 12 and under! (including the zoo at that time) I loved the Museum of Man and the Natural History museum. I wandered freely all over Balboa Park with nary a fear. Never once did anything weird or scary ever happen to me.
Like others commenting here, I walked to school, walked to the movie theater (sometimes with friends, sometimes alone) walked to the library…all these destinations often up to a mile or more away. Explored the canyons near my home all day long, only fearing the possibility of rattlesnakes. I whittled with a REAL pocketknife, built teepees, dug for fossils-Man! Did we have it great, or what?!
The only hard rule was be home by dark!
The worst injury I ever sustained as a kid was a J’dart (lawn dart) ending up in my foot, tossed by a neighbor kid. Still have the teeny scar from the puncture. I lived. I’ve fallen out of trees and had my share of bike related incidences. It was just part and parcel of growing up.
I applaud your effort here! About time we had a backlash to the Nerf World.
I’m currently raising my own with the same standards I was raised by-it’s even more fun since we live out in the country now.
You’ve got the right idea here…….reminds me of what I wrote in my 2003 book “Weapons of Mass Delusion” and referred to in the chapter called ‘Cloistered Kids Syndrome.’
Glad to see I’m not the only one fearful about what such a risk-adverse mentality may do / is doing to our kids and societal future.
I think kids will become more “free range” when their parents are less affluent and have to work harder to keep the households going.
That said, if a family is not affluent to the point of being near poverty, their kids may be freer to range, but definitely may not be safer. Many of us probably do not know what it is like to be a “free range kid” in a dangerous inner city housing project, for example. I think of some of the things in the news that have happened to unsupervised children (appalling abuses, murders, etc) in the inner city and shudder.
A lot of us grew up in the “sweet spot” of an American society where we lived in safe neighborhoods, but our parents still both had to work hard enough (either in the workplace, or as homemakers) so that they had less leisure time and that it was actually easier for them to let their kids roam free instead of getting in the way of their work. “Go out and play will ya?”
Today, many middle-class Americans live more affluent lifestyles where Mom doesn’t necessarily have to spend 8 hours a day cooking and cleaning - hence a lot more time to be “concerned” about the children and maybe overprotective. I’m not saying Mom has a maid, but rather technological advances have also made housework less labor-intensive; and also, more women have white collar jobs where they get vacation time or flex time. But when more Americans have to start working longer and latchkey kids become common again, freedom (and yes, danger) may happen again by itself.
I mean, when I was growing up, having a nanny meant you were rich. This is now considered “middle class” in some parts of the country. But these days are fading fast.
I was walking to kindergarten by myself after the first day or two.
And although I certainly advocate the use of helmets for biking and similar activities, I grew up in a time when helmets were only used by fighter pilots, soldiers and construction workers. I’m still alive and still somewhat functional with proper supervision.
And because I was a free range kid, my eggs have much more flavor. Cluck cluck. ; )
By the way, did anyone notice the tiny happy face to the far right in the gray area, between the top banner and the main content area?
I remember begging my mother to let me walk home from kindergarten by myself. This was the early 80’s, and our house was 3 or 4 blocks away. I’m not sure I could describe my thinking at the time, but from what I recall, I wanted to prove that I could do it - prove it to myself and to my mother - and I felt the need for a bit of independence.
She finally said yes, and I was thrilled. I mapped out different routes home in my head, but of course, chose the same way we always went. I was looking forward to walking in the front door and announcing I was home.
But that didn’t happen. As I was 1 or 2 houses away from home, a voice called out behind me. It was my mom. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh, just going for a walk” she responded. I was incredibly disappointed that she seemed so nonchalant about my new accomplishment. Wasn’t she proud of me? Although I didn’t piece it together at the time, years later she admitted the obvious, and added a few details: she had hidden in the bushes at school and followed me home.
Maybe she was more worried than she needed to be, but after that first walk she must have been satisfied, because soon I was walking home alone daily.
You’re missing a piece of what free-range means: not just a right to roam, but a (monetarily) free place to roam.
Now a lot of the places kids go (supervised or not) are places to spend money in a structured activity: activity centers, sports centers, shopping malls, multiplex cinemas.
When I grew up in suburban Long Island in the 70s, there were few of these places (arcades, bowling alleys) but we mostly played in undeveloped fields, woodlands, farms, parking lots and beaches.
Kids need unstructured, free places to be kids in.
One of my fondest childhood memories is flying back home to Chicago from summer vacation spent with my family in Poland, in 1990. I was eight years old, and had to transfer in Dublin. I remember being one of many such trans-Atlantic kids on that flight, all of us had a pouchs with our passports and tickets dangling from our necks. The stewardesses took good care of us, and we all made it over safely. Not only would I not think twice about sending my child over to Europe on such a flight, I would even insist on doing so. The event charged me up with unsatiable urge for exploring, one that I still have to this day.
At 8, I went hunting, and took my five year old brother.
He was only allowed the .22, as he was so young.
We had both been bought up around firearms, and had a responsible attitude to them. No one ever got hurt.
I rode my bike, at 12, 19 km each way, including six kilometers on State Highway One, for an outing with friends.
I went to the beach on my own or with siblings and friends from about 6.
I had a motorbike at ten, which I rode independently of my parents. I still ride.
I participated in martial arts from the age of 6, and only recently stopped at 40.
I survived it all. No broken bones, very few stitches, only a couple of concussions.
I am a severe asthmatic. It would have been easy for my parents to curtail my freedoms on health grounds, especially as I spent a total of almost two years in hospital from the age of two, and wasn’t expected to survive.
They made the decision that if I was here for a short time, then I would have rich experiences and memories to take with me.
I knew I was a big kid in second grade when my best friend and I rode our bikes across town (busy streets and all) to play miss pac-man. As we walked the strip mall on the way to an arcade an average looking man walked towards us. no big deal, until we noticed his penis was hanging out of his pants.
the way we reacted was to laugh at him and point out LOUDLY that his weiner was flapping in the breeze. we continued laughing as we walked on to the arcade.
are we scarred for life? frankly, i was empowered by laughing at the guy.
we still laugh at the poor bastard to this day.
I posted a longer version of this on my blog, which is linked above. It was part of a post that was completely cheering what you’re doing. I don’t have kids, but I’d like to think I’d find ways to raise them — as you’re putting it — free range. Here’s my story, from the mid 1980s:
I grew up in the Washington, D.C. area, and was not allowed to ride the Metro alone. Period. Given: The closest stop was a good 15 minute car ride, and until age 16 I had no car, but even then it would have been questionable. So when I was about 14 or 15, probably more like 15, I wanted to go down to see this musician I loved do a signing at Tower Records. He was coming in on a summer’s afternoon when I was supposed to be a camp counselor in training, so it wasn’t like I’d miss any school. But when I mentioned it to mom, her response was, “Well, it’s a shame you can’t go.” So I kept my trap shut and told camp I wouldn’t be in and after mom took my brother to his camp on her way to work while I waited for my ride (to not come), I headed to the bus stop and took the bus to the Metro, and the Metro down to Tower Records, where I met up with my friends and had a jolly old time. Then we all came back together. And guess what: We all came back without a scratch, and with a newfound sense of confidence because we’d done it on our own.
Sorry, hit “enter” before I put in the Web site! Feel free to edit as necessary.
I have to start off my saying how grateful I am to my parents for instilling a sense of independence in my brother and I at a young age. As a technical Me generationer (I’m 26), I feel more at home with the latch-key gen-X folks than I do with other folks my age. My dad would kick my brother and I out of bed every morning and walk us the three blocks to elementary school (in downtown Chicago) and pick us up every day at 3. Of course, when we got to second grade, the pampering was over. He’d sleepily hand us our lunches, boot us out the door and we’d tromp through the snow to school and he’d trust us to find our way back home again whenever we felt like coming home, leaving us to play in the playground after school until it became too dark to see.
My two best friends at the time also lived about a mile and a half away (which is a good 25 minute walk). After showing me the way to their apartment buildings once, my parents trusted me to be able to find my way there and back from then on.
When I started high school, my dad took the bus with me the first day, pointed me in the right direction and said, “walk about a mile that way and you’ll find the school.” He gave me a transit map and a fare card and let me go crazy.
The only times they wouldn’t let me boldly go where millions have gone before, were when I’d be going to sketchy areas. They’d insist that I be picked up promptly from the train stop or hand me a wad of cash for a cab or outright forbid it, and it’s understandable. But they weren’t afraid of kidnappers or rapists; they were afraid i’d get mugged (which did happen twice) or that the gangs in the area wouldn’t think too kindly of a white girl walking through their territory.
I learned pretty quickly what proper mass transit behavior was. I also learned pretty quickly who I could trust and who I should be wary of, and this was entirely independent of my parents increasingly less-watchful eyes.
I wouldn’t be the confident and fearless gal I am today (getting my doctorate in San Diego) if it hadn’t been for their “neglect.” Since a lot of the kids of my generation have been disgustingly pampered (even through college), I’ve noticed that a lot of them have strange attachment disorders (always looking for a new mommy or daddy to take care of them), a distaste for the unfamiliar (unless it’s the hottest new gadget that daddy will buy for them) and a general sense of entitlement since they’ve always had everything handed to them without having to do a shred of work to earn it (which, needless to say, is resulting in a workforce that expects the world to revolve around them, causing managers to change the way they interact with this new breed of ego-maniac).
Don’t fret, though. There are a good deal of us out there who turned out alright thanks in large part to our parents caring about us enough to pretend not to care.
This is culled from a blog I wrote about this very topic
http://franzy.tblog.com/post/1969938921
It was inspired by a post I just read by a friend with a two-year-old daughter. He was complaining that he catches absolutely everything she catches at child-care. Fair enough. But the reason his immune system is so low, he believes, is because he himself was never sent to child-care as a kid and hence didn’t have that glorious, scarifying time of sickness and strengthening, catching everything from sniffles to school sores to build him up Good’n’Strong ™.
I am (at first) inclined to agree with him, based purely on the strength of my own childhood. I went to the Goodwood Child Care Centre down the road and surely it was a wonderful, magical time during which I learned many things, made many friends and also, no doubt, caught many many diseases. I got sick, recovered, built up antibodies and moved on with the rest of my life, never to become ill ever again.
Seriously.
I can’t remember the last time I was sick that wasn’t of my own doing. To quote George Carlin:
“If I drop food on the floor I pick it up and eat it. Even if I’m at a sidewalk café. In Calcutta. The poor section. On New Year’s Morning during a soccer riot. And in spite of all that risky behaviour, in don’t get infections. I don’t get colds, I don’t get flus because I’ve got a good strong immune system.”
Stretching it? Maybe. But it’s true. I have a yearly cold, just to keep myself in shape and then I carry on eating off the floor.
So that’s because of my time spent in child care, is it? Well … no. It may have had something to do with it, but I was baptised in a truly special fire to get my immune system to where it is today.
I am about to confess something that is not for the faint of heart or those who have ever thought about kissing me on the lips.
You have been warned …
It began years ago, before I learned to talk or walk, but after I could crawl. It was a bright sunny day on the Rancho del Franzy and Señor Franzy was playing with I, his son, Franzino, in the front yard (didn’t know we were Spanish, did you?). Something distracted Señor Franzy and momentarily his attenzione was elsewhere (I believe he was fighting a bull). A deadly situation. Little Franzino was off like a blond-haired bullet, exploring the farthest reaches of the Rancho del Franzy and learning much(o).
When Señor Franzy returned, he discovered exactly how much Franzino had picked up. Two important things. One: how to open the front gate and two: ….
…
…..
……
Dog poo is edible.
That is correct, señores y senoritas. When Señor Franzy found me after a brief and panic-filled search, to his horror I had exactly three something-fulls of dog shit and two of those somethings were hands.
I was either going to die from some bacteria-related illness or gain an immune system that could be passed down, intact, through the next five generations.
“This here is great-grandpa’s immune system, son. Don’t make that face, three generations have benefited from that radioactive rhino shit he was forced to eat back in the days when reality TV was legal.” (story-telling will run in the family)
“Wow, Dad! Can I eat some radioactive rhino shit?”
“Sure, son. Let’s go down to IkeaMaxiMart and get some!”
So there you have it. If you want a stronger immune system and less time spent battling those winter sniffles – eat some dog poo.
I grew up in a home surrounded by a spectacular array of dangers.
Right next to the house was a curving road, with high walls on either side. So I learned to use my ears, walk facing the traffic etc. I also learned that if you sit on the wall and throw tomatoes at car windscreens, you’d better be good at running.
A few hundred yards away was an open landfill site. We called it the tip. We spent many happy hours playing among dead washing machines (sharp metal!), breaking the screens of old TV sets (glass!), throwing stones at rats (tetanus!). The smell of rotting rubbish on a hot day takes me right back to the age of 7.
Across the fields were disused quarries, and cliff faces where you could crawl into holes in the rock, and find networks of
caves.
My brother and I had an idyllic childhood amid these, and other dangers (swimming in the sea, sliding on our backsides down rock screes, spending all day out on cycle rides).
I applaud my parents for letting us be free range kids. And my wife and I do everything we can, within a city setting (cars!) to let our kids be free range too. Tabloid scare mongers and paranoid parents taking their kids to school in armoured cars can go hang!
My childhood was very free. I was a latch-key kid starting in fourth grade, and I rode my bike (or later a skateboard) all over the neighborhood, so I’m a big fan of free-range kids. I remember staying out with friends on summer nights ’til dark, and I remember going hiking in the hill with friends and not a grownup in site. We built forts on the hill by the dump and went “sledding” during the summer on a hill by the golf course.
I am just overjoyed to see this site. It’s probably a little unprofessional, but I’m going to give you a link from my company’s links page.
i grew up around intensely bizarre, paranoid people. i remember more than once being interested in hare krishna devotees that i saw in airports, only to be dragged away by the arm by my mother because i “might get kidnapped and brainwashed”… no wonder now, at 48, i am a sivaite hindu…
but at the same time, i was allowed to fly from buffalo to peoria illinois, stay (with my grandparents) for two weeks and then return, by myself, when i was 7 years old.
Here’s to free-range kids!
Many years ago, a friend of mine coined a phrase I like very much. He said we need to allow our children the dignity of risk.
I was raised “free-range”, though my parents were far from permissive (by the standards of the 1950’s & 1960’s! For instance, I was grounded once for having my bike out after dark - being out after dark at a friend’s house was fine, but not with the bike!)
As an adult who is way, way past the age of majority, I still sometimes shock people who say, “Who did you go with (to the movie, to dinner, to England)? You went ALONE!?” Yes, people, it is actually allowed!
The summer after 8th grade (1985) when I was still 13 I went to Merida, Mexico for 3 weeks. My grandfather lived there. On the way there I had a 5 hour layover in Miami and once I got there I was “allowed” to ride the bus from my grandfathers house to the center of town, walk around the city alone…. I was a free range kid in a foreign country. My spanish was just ok.
I’m still alive.
I remember when I was 12 and took my first independent adventure. On a boring summer day, I ambled down to the local liquor store to buy a comic book. I noticed a bus pull up to the bus stop and the sign read NEWPORT BEACH. RIght then and there, I decided to drop my money in the box and take a 2 hour bus trip to the beach all by myself. It was the most exciting thing I had experienced. I got the the beach, walked around and looked at girls, drank a soda and came home. I matter-of-factly told my mom what I had done and she was shocked initially, but for the rest of the summer my friends and I went to the beach with our parents’ blessing.
I love that last articulate comment! I feel refreshed and validated when I hear you and most of these people talking. I grew up in the “safe” suburbs. One of my friend’s sisters became one of the most famous child abductions in history. Rather than make me more afraid, the indicent taught me that something like this could happen anywhere, even with the best of circumstances, and certainly this type of tragedy is nothing to plan your life around. I now am raising my two children an extremely diverse urban environment. We have no car so we are always walking or on public transportation. We play at public parks, swim at the public beach and find that most people are really nice, helpful and interesting. Their stories have enriched our lives immensely. Every once in a while we encounter a person who is “talking to someone who isn’t there,” or “seems too friendly,” or “makes us feel funny.” Thankfully my children have the experience to be able to make these judgments, and are not limited to the information which scares them (and me) from having experiences. I could go on…..
In the summer, in the 1970’s, in South Carolina, we used to set out in the morning, and wouldn’t return until nightfall. No checking in, no cell-phones (they didn’t exist), nothing. We were a mixed band of boys and girls; every day was a new adventure.
We’d ride bikes, go swimming, roam through the woods to find vines to swing on, built camps complete with fires, all sorts of things.
If we had money, we’d walk to the store, a few miles distance, walking down the highway, and get candy and pop.
Sometimes, our bikes would take us far into the country where we’d explore abandoned buildings. Sometimes we’d cross town to hang out at the playground at the school we attended.
We caught snakes, played with stray dogs, dug caves into the banks of the creek, and built forts. We walked creek beds for miles, picking over the rocks in our bare feet.
I feel so incredibly sorry for children today if they aren’t “allowed” to do those things.
Yes, I heard stories of what nyc was like before kitty genovese. Myself, I was walking across busy intersections to school when I was 9 or 10. Yes, on our block we kids played until the sun went down. And yes, we took the subway in groups to coney island. BUT, in the early 70’s we were all told and knew that there were streets that you NEVER walked down - and some friends didn’t listen and were hurt, lived.
And I can tell you as the father of 2 elementary school age children living in the same neighborhood years later that I would never let me children do what I did - including crossing the same BUSIER intersections. WHY, because even though kids get hurt and live, some hurts can never be healed.
happy in manhattan
When I was in Grade 1, we had to walk a few miles to get to school. No parents walked with us, No parents drove us, most people in those days (50’s ) only had 1 car, most likely dads had the cars to drive to work, moms stayed home. We had to come home for lunch, no lunch program at school, then walk back for the after noon. We would play outside until it was time for supper. No video games to play, just good clean fun outdoors. Those were the days…….
At 20, I am part of the generation that has grown up with “helicopter” parents. Although I am grateful to my parents for the amount of care and attention they gave me, I definitely feel they went too far in attempting to assure my safety by instilling fear. I was not allowed to venture out alone pretty much at all until my teens, and even now, warnings from my mother ring in my ears when crossing a busy street or heading out at night. Although this has encouraged me to make safe choices, everytime I see a kid with a sucker or a scarf, my sympathetic nervous system goes crazy as I am sure a tragedy is about to occur. I think it must be hard to find an appropriate balance as to how much freedom to give a child, but based on my own level of paranoia, I would tend to think that more freedom is benificial as long as it is given with the appropriate information and safety reminders.
I’m sure I’m instilling that paranoia on all fronts except public transit use. Thanks, commenter above, for the reminder to ME!!
And go get a sucker!
Signed — Lenore SKenazy, Ms. “Free Range” Herself! .
I’m a 27-year-old white guy. I grew up in Washington, DC in the ’80s and ’90s when it was the “homicide capital of the world,” through the height of the crack epidemic, in a borderline neighborhood, a block from the Kilimanjaro nightclub notorious for the occasional shooting or stabbing out front. And guess what? I walked to and from school every day through elementary school. I walked with my two older brothers until I was in 4th grade and they were both at different schools, and then I walked with friends or alone. I rode the subway, often alone, to and from junior high and high school.
Did my mother worry herself sick every day over my safety? Not at all. For one thing, I often had my two older brothers looking out for me. More importantly, though, my parents knew I was a smart kid. They knew the route I walked, they knew the neighborhood, and they knew I knew the neighborhood too. They spent a lot of time teaching me how to cross the street safely (which of course is a heck of a lot more important than looking out for kid-snatchers), making sure I knew emergency numbers to call, and generally ensuring I was well equipped to handle myself in the city.
Despite the many years I spent walking alone in the city as a child, I was never robbed, beaten up, hit by a car, struck by a stray bullet, or kidnapped by a sinister pedophile. Now, as an adult, I’ve lived in New York, first in Brooklyn and now at the edge of Harlem, for five years. There have been very few situations during those five years in which I’ve felt unsafe or threatened. I’ve still yet to be mugged, assaulted, or robbed. I won’t deny that an element of luck is involved, but I’d like to think that the street smarts I picked up as a child have played a significant part in my ability to live comfortably and safely in a big city.
It’s scary to see what adults have turned childhood into. As a child, back in the 1980s, from the age of 5, I walked to school (alone or with my brothers). We walked a good distance to a community pool, where we swam, amazingly, without our parents (there was a lifeguard), and then walked home. From a young age I spent many hours on my bicycle, riding to the library, or around the neighborhood, many hours with no adult supervision at all. I would take a younger brother, get on a bus, and go to the mall, or a few of us would go off to a park to play. Through it all, I sensed that my parents trusted us to use what they taught us about being safe/careful, and our good sense and intelligence. Our only admonition was to to be home by suppertime. In all that time, I don’t ever remember being accosted by a stranger in an untoward way. What I do remember is the lovely freedom of being outside, on my own, enjoying the day and the pleasure of being new int the world.
I grew up not so long ago in the 80’s, and I had all kinds of freedom. There were rules. I had to tell my mom roughly where I was going, like “bike riding” or “Amy’s house”. Until I was 10 or so, I had to ask permission to go anywhere on the other side of town because my mom didn’t like me crossing the train tracks or the highway during high traffic times. If I stayed within those rules, I could do what I wanted.
The interesting thing is that because I had so much freedom, I didn’t ever do anything really crazy. I usually stayed within about a 6-block radius of my house. I rode my bike all over the place. I played at a playground. I climbed trees. I rode across town to get candy at the drug store. I walked home from school, which was on the other side of town. I never got kidnapped. I never broke a bone. Nothing really bad ever happened.
I found out later in life that when I was about 11, there was a pedophile rapist in my small town who was targeting young girls. Even that didn’t change my mom’s rules. By the time anyone knew about him, he had been caught, and my mom figured, “What are the chances of two perverts in the same small town?”
On the other hand, one of my friends was sheltered and home-schooled and never allowed out of the sight of her family. At age 18, she didn’t even know what a condom was. She got married at 19 to an abusive sex offender. For almost 10 years she was so naive that her husband had convinced her that the way he behaved was normal, but she just didn’t know because she was a home-schooler, so she didn’t know how regular people behaved.
I grew up as a military kid in the 60s and 70s, and was pretty much a ‘free-range’ kid. Mom would set our boundaries, make sure we knew what time to come home, and turn us loose. We had woods and various places to play, depending on where we lived.
In Okinawa, we were allowed to go to the seawall, which was about 6 blocks away, but not to Kadena Circle, which was only 4 blocks away- because of the traffic. In Japan, we could run all over the base where we lived, and visit some shops right outside the gates. As a first-grade in Washington, I walked 6 blocks to school. In Texas, I walked about 3/4 of a mile to school.
I think that the freedom I was given permitted me to gain confidence in my ability to find my way around and watch out for myself. Even today, I get my bearings very quickly, and rarely get lost. I see life and new places as an adventure, and rarely feel threatened.
What alarms me is that my peers and the Boomers before them have become these protective, paranoid, hovering parents, raising kids who can’t find their way out of a paper bag, and who cannot figure things out for themselves. I predict a huge backlash when these kids finally realize what they’ve been denied.
Childhood should be preparation for adulthood- with gradually escalating responsibilities and privileges, not the long-term coddling and practical worship it has become. Kids have to learn by doing, and they have to screw up. When they do this while younger, they learn to cope with failure and also learn how to dust themselves off and get back into things. Parents (and teachers) are no longer permitting this, and I really fear for the competency of the adults these kids will become.
I grew up in downtown Philadelphia. By the time I was in early elementary school, I was free to go almost anywhere could walk—which included the Natural History Museum, the Franklin Institute science museum, Independence Hall, and a lot more. When my Dad was too busy to take me to the ballgame, he’d give me enough money for subway or bus fare, a ticket, a program, and a hot dog or two. I spent a ton of unsupervised Sundays at Connie Mack Stadium, leaving at noon and not coming home till after the second game of the doubleheader.
Every Memorial Day holiday, I’d go down to Washington DC to visit my aunt and uncle. My folks would put me on the train in Philly, and my uncle would meet me at Union Station. The next day, they’d drop me off on the Mall in the morning and tell me where and when to be at the end of the day. In between, I’d explore the sights of Washington.
When I was about the same age as Lenore Skenazy’s boy, my dad let me call a taxi to take me by myself to the train station. When I got there, I bought my own ticket and boarded the train. On the way down, I went into the dining car and ordered my own lunch. My uncle was, as usual, there to meet me, but I can still remember—more than half a century later—how proud I felt to have made the trip on my own.
In about 1985, when I was about 10 and my sister about 12, the whole family visited New York City for Christmas and New Year’s Eve. I can’t recall which borough we stayed in (probably Manhattan). One evening, my sister and I left the hotel, walked a couple blocks away, jumping over dirty snow piles and avoiding icy puddles, to get some sodas or snacks or whatever. We grew up in a small city in Virginia, so this was a big adventure. A sketchy (probably homeless) man told us not to wait for the crosswalk to turn green and just cross whenever there weren’t cars coming. I remember that vividly although pretty much nothing happened.
I feel very strongly that two young kids in “free range” situations is imminently more safe than a single kid. At the time of our NYC adventure, my sister and I probably could have traveled the Trans-Siberian Railroad from Moscow to Beijing without incident because we were a team.
When I was 10 years old at a boarding school in Malaysia, we had a “Jungle Survival” club - nothing like a bunch of kids with machetes clearing a path through viper-infested tropical jungle! What a blast! I only ever recall one serious incident when a kid was bit by a pit viper. He survived to tell the tale. My only regret is that we never saw the tiger we heard stories about.
I grew up in the 70s and 80s in small town Arkansas. I lived on the edge of a small town (pop. 8000) in the foothills of the Ozarks. Across the street from our house in a new subdivision was howling wilderness (or so it felt). By the age of 9 or 10, I was roaming all day long on weekends and in the summers by myself. My parents even let me buy a hatchet with my yard-mowing money, and I carried that hatchet with me at all times when out in the woods. If I wasn’t out in the woods all day, I was walking or biking around town.
Even then, we heard/read stories about kids being abducted. There was a guy in our town who tried to lure a number of young girls into his car, but none were stupid enough to do it, and he was eventually caught.
My son is now 5, and we live in a much larger town (60,000 with about 300,000 in the area), and I’m much less lenient with him than my parent were with me.
Of course, it doesn’t help that my wife and son were carjacked not 200 yards from our house in our fairly sleepy college town last year. They weren’t hurt (or even threatened), but it wakes you up.
I’m going to have to try VERY hard to let my son do the sort of things I did when I was a kid, because I treasure those memories of my childhood. I hope I can give him better training and insights than my parents, though, who pretty much just opened the door and said, “See ya!”
I grew up in the eighties, and I remember being practically welded to my bike every summer. Out and riding after breakfast, back for lunch (unless I had some chore money left and could go to A&W!), then out again again until supper. When we were younger we were just allowed to ride around and around the block, then later we could ride anywhere between X Street and Y Street, then later we just had to be back by whatever time. The only time we phoned home was if we were trying to beg permission to stay out later.
That was not too long after Ted Bundy was picking girls up from our neck of the woods. I remember always feeling protected, because my parents always wanted to know where - in general - we were going, but the kind of “protection” so many parents insist on these days is crazy.
My mom has told me that when she was in first or second grade she would walk to school every day. She hated her shoes, and would ditch them in a bush down the street every morning, then pick them back up on the way back home each night. Now that’s freedom!!!
Being the youngest of 3 brothers and also having 4 step siblings it is hard to pinpoint the 1 moment when I was ‘Free Range’. I walked several blocks to school and back from 3rd grade on, but I had neighbor friends and lived in a pretty affluent neigborhood so I don’t think that was a serious test.
Probably the single biggest moment was the summer between 5th & 6th grade when my mother left me alone in the house for basically an entire weekend, coming by to check on me during the day on Saturday. But I was alone for 2 nights, cooking formyself and sleeping alone in the house. And I didn’t suffer a home invasion, or poison myself, or burn down the house. While I love to torure my mom about that event to this day, I realize that it was a testament to my upbringing that I didn’t do anything bad. And it was also a testament to the fact that a 10 year old is not an infant, they can and should be capable of fending for themselves if necessary.
I have two sisters, three and six years younger. In first grade, (about 1983) I walked to the school bus stop at the end of our street by myself. (.1 mile) In second grade, I walked or biked the .25 mile from home to school by myself. In third, I had to walk my little sister to and from school and babysit her after school, and that trend continued. I walked to school, usually with a large musical instrument in tow, through high school.
That experience taught me to make good calls — I’ve never put myself in a situation where I could be exploited, even in college. I never drank with people I didn’t trust, I never got in a car with someone who had had one too many.
Sure, I saw flashers… and the first time it happened, (6th grade) I laughed. Not the expected reaction, I’m sure. No one ever touched me, though, and most kids can outrun an adult. Bullies, sure. They happened, but learning to deal with them (one by applying a knee to a sensitive spot, one by rolling my eyes, walking away and essentially daring her to come after me — she didn’t) taught me that fear feeds bullies, scorn is the equivalent of Roundup. I never would have learned that if my parents had been always around. Traffic? Good grief, if a 10 year old can’t cross the street safely, with the light, looking both ways…
I was born and raised in a 700,000 city centre in Southern Europe in late 1969.
I started riding buses at 10, to and from school. So did my middle brother. My younger brother would ride with me when I was 12 and he 6.
We had a weekend and holidays house in the countryside, in a slightly remote area by a tiny river. From the time I was about 7 or 8 we’d spend the whole day on our own, coming home only for lunch and dinner. We’d ride bikes - with helmets, yes, but barefeet if it was too hot and no pads - cross to the other side of the river, climb to the nearby hilltops, hike to the nearest village, steal grapes from the neighbourhood farms and spy on rabbit and pheasant hunters. The only rule, apart from coming home for meals, was to never ever get close to the main asphalt road (which was not very close, anyway).
I went to a movie theatre with a friend alone for the first time when we were both 12 going on 13. We went to watch a movie with Brooke Shields called Endless Love (Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie soundtrack). From then on we’d go with friends to the movies every school holidays. We’d also meet up in parks or friends’ apartaments. We were all in different parts of the city so some came by bus, others by metro, still others on foot (just one or two driven around all the time by parents). We also liked to go to newsagents to buy pop music magazines (this was during Duran Duran times, we were 12, 13, 14), standing side by side with men perusing over Playboy and the like.
From the summer I was about 13 or 14 yo, my brothers (11 or 12 and 7 or
and I would go to the public open-air swimming pool to meet up with friends on our own. We all took swimming classes there, so even the younger ones knew how to swim.
When I was 14 my class went on a school trip to London for 10 days. We were allowed to ride the tube and buses in threesomes on the last 2 days.
When I was 17 I would hitchhike with friends to the beach (we’re on the Atlantic coast) where we’d spend the whole day, during the month of July.
Having said all that, I had my first date when I was 16, first time I went to a club was a matinée and I was 17, first time I went to a night club was for my 18th birthday and until I was 19 or 20 I had the 2 am curfew . Yes, because here we usually live with our parents until we graduate!
When I was ~5 years old, my mother would put me on a trolley on Tremont Ave. in the Bronx (yes, I am that old!) and my grandfather would be waiting at the Jennings St. stop. She would tell the driver to be sure I got off at the proper stop.
Later, when I was ~12, I would take my 8-year old brother to the museum via the subway. We did get mugged once, at the Museum of Natural History stop, but that was really our fault. He like to look out the front window of the train, so we were at the extreme end of the platform when we were accosted by a group of kids not much older than ourselves.
By the time our children were born, we were living in the suburbs of CT and taking public transportation was never an option. Nevertheless, we tried to give our kids a lot of space and they turned out fine. Our younger daughter even took a solo trip around the world after she finished school. They, and we, survived.
Now I have to teach my two grandsons to take some risks.
I remember riding my bike around the block one day, I was about 7 or 8 at the time…I hit some gravel in front of a house and whammo! crashed to the ground and skinned my knee. It hurt and was bleeding and I was kind of crying a little. So I went up and knocked on the door of the house. The people inside didn’t grab me and rape me, they didn’t feed me any poisoned candy…they gave me a bandaid and drove me home. Imagine that!!!
I’m 21, and (thank God) not yet a parent. But I taught English for a year in China and I’ve babysat here in America, and I’m still young and spry enough to remember my own childhood.
Some of my first memories, of when I was two or three, are of going with my dad to the dry gulch that all the guys used as a firing range. He taught me how to use and respect a firearm. To this day, my first and automatic actions on taking a gun in my hand is to open it, insure there are no rounds inside, close it back up, and put the safety on. And I have never, ever pointed a gun at anything I didn’t want to see die.
My mother likes to tell the story that, when I was 3, she took me to the city park, where she sat on the bench with a good book while I ran around playing spaceman. At one point, climbing the “macaroni slide,” I discovered that I could grab one of the support poles about halfway down and use it as a fireman’s pole. Upon this discovery, other children started aping me…until their mothers came and told them not to behave like That Child. My mother looked up and said to me, “That’s very good, dear! Just you be careful!”
“I will, mother!” (Yes. I did. I stopped by the time I was five, but I called them Mother and Father.)
I grew up in the house I hope to raise my children, an adobe cottage in California with the doors open, an open fire the only heat, and dogs and ducks running through the house. The old man called it ‘hacienda’ living. I’m pretty sure that my slight nasal problems would be much, much worse if I’d grown up in your standard issue hermetically-sealed stucco-and-studs. My folks still live in the house, in a small fishing village of 10,000. One of the delights of my childhood is the many “random fellows” who came to stay with us for short or long times…guys my old man knew from mechanic work or from going to A.A. A lot of them considered a stay at my place a step up from the gutter. I spent long hours with all of them, they taught me to play poker, introduced me to a lot of the town fishermen, watched cartoons with them, and made lifelong friends with some.
The house is right behind a metal shop, a skeezy self-store setup, a storage yard for heavy machinery (and, often enough, the men working them), and an RV servicing station. The self-store was guarded by a self-appointed guardian who lived in his storage unit, made model ships, entertained us neighborhood kids, and had a decently sized pornographic collection. He was a dear friend until his unfortunate passing. This was my neighborhood and my home.
The folks started their own business when I was 8, and I would walk a mile home, dragging a baritone half as big as I was, or actually, honest to God, thumb a lift. I remember a lot of reheated dinners and nights by the fire with a good book, not knowing entirely when the folks would be home from the meetings they recorded. In fifth grade, I switched schools, and started my habit of pawning rides home from my classmates (a trait I would carry all through my years). The folks hired an unmarried, usually unshorn 40-something geek to work for them, and he became my mentor and my friend for much of my childhood. I owe Paul my faith in humanity, my belief in the proper use of technology, and a lot of the childhood spirit I can still call my own.
I remember coming skidding around the bend on my one speed, and taking it too hard. I went plowing into the ground. I ripped open my knee and my elbow pretty damned badly. And I stood up, stoically limped toward the house, went into the bathroom, and dressed my own wounds. I wasn’t into the double-digits yet. Dad helped me, saying all the time how impressed he was with my stoicism and my will to get it done.
I remember biking home from karate, about a mile through downtown, past the bar district where the fisherman gathered each night, every Tuesday and Thursday night from age 8 to 12.
I remember wandering the streets of the closest city, where my mother volunteered for the feminist paper, heading down to the comic shop and then up the street to the local pizza place for a game of Street Fighter and two slices of goodness. Sometimes I’d be gone two hours or more. When I came back, Mom would look up, smile, and ask me “O where have you been, my blue-eyed son, and where have you been, my darling young one?”
I remember getting into throwing rocks with my friends while their mother was away, and we ended up tossing a rock into someone’s car. The police came out and gave us a stern talking to…called our parents. They reprimanded us for our lack of good sense, but they never said “we should have been there.” They shouldn’t have. We should’ve known better.
I remember being thirteen years of age, not out of middle school, going out on a road-show to San Francisco, working for the old man. He dropped me off at the Cafe Trieste which strides Little Italy, Telegraph Hill, and Chinatown, and expected me to find my way back to my uncle’s place over on Stockton next to Japantown…that’s a good long walk! And it became one of my favorites every time I returned to the City.
I remember my first trip on the public bus, having cheated my way out of high school and into college (and there really is no other word for it: I tricked the system into doing what I wanted it to do.). I remember taking the bus every day to class, talking to anyone who looked interesting, same as I always have, reasoning a stranger’s just a friend I haven’t met yet. I got into a conversation with a man carrying a rotten whale’s tale, convinced that the Loch Ness Monster talked to him in his dreams. We walked up and down the college to find some obscure professor he was looking for before I had to run to class. I followed him, but at that age I had the sense to keep a weather eye on him and stay to places that were public and light.
When I finally did talk to someone I shouldn’t have on a bus, age of 18, an ex-con just out on parole, I had the good sense to know he was bad news, and to keep him talking and be friendly but aloof…thanks mostly to all the people I’d talked to on the bus before.
And I wasn’t the only one. Brendan and Danny were a usual sight down by the docks, so all the fishermen knew on sight that those were Vince’s two boys. Jatae lived out of the old yellowing hotel on the hill, and turned into a real tough cookie by the end. The boys next door were always running around or up to something…Robert had his own hideout in the woods next to the rusty frame of a car that took a bend too quick. The worst that I faced down in that little town were kids my own age, and the loneliness of a latchkey kid.
One of the ironies that I don’t really find all that funny any more is how often I get mistaken for someone Of Bad Intentions. When I was 14, waiting for the bus at that same city park where my mother told me to “just you be careful,” I was watching the children playing on all the old equipment. I smiled a bit, thinking pleasantly on the prospect of being a father myself one day and bringing my kids to this same park. A largish woman with a fanny pack came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I made a comment to the extent of I was watching the children play and aren’t they beautiful? She told me to go away, and to never come back, and to never come near her children again. I walked around the other side of the restrooms and thought black things in the warm morning sun.
Recently, I was hired as a contract photographer for a Disney promotion. It involved going to the beaches here in town, putting up promotional materials, and photographing passersby, families especially. As I walked around asking permission, I heard an awful lot of no’s. Some of them were simply dismissive, some were vaguely hostile. One young lady begged her mom, “but why NOT, mom?”
“Because he’s lying, dear.” Replied the mother, within my earshot. I told her that hurts, and she gave me a plastic smile and the most acid-laced “I’m SURE it DOES” you can imagine. A few families down the line, I was taken aside by an officer of the peace who received a complaint that I was soliciting for child pornography. After explaining my intentions and providing material proof of them, he agreed to let me go as long as I left immediately.
More recently than that, the mayor asked me to help out with the annual children’s parade.
I’ve done godawful stupid things in my life, but I hope to God that I don’t turn into a parent like those women. I’m perfectly certain that plenty of men have reached that level, but I’ve only encountered irate mothers in my experience so far. I’ve heard it all changes when you become a father, I hope that’s not true. I hope to teach my children that people are strange, and some are bent, and how to figure the bent ones from the rest, and what to do about them. I hope to teach my children self-defense, no-nonsense self-defense, how to handle a gun and how to smell a bad place and hightail it and still hold their heads high. I hope to teach my children to talk to people, to engage them, to be curious about them, to help them and to give them the benefit of the doubt whenever deserved…but not to fear them. I hope to teach them how to behave around all kinds of people, from the unemployed fishermen who smell sour and sit in the pizza parlors to the mayor and the Supervisors. I hope to teach my children that a calculated risk is no risk at all, as I learned in trying to navigate the streets of San Francisco and travelled to China for a year when I wasn’t yet out of my teens. I want them to learn to emotionally support and entertain themselves, as I did fighting off pain while limping to the house and in fending off boredom and loneliness during the nights where I unlocked the door, cooked my dinner, and made a fire in the fireplace. I want to teach them, above all else, that mistakes are the sign you’re growing and becoming better, mistakes are the sign you’ve tried, as I learned by skidding my bike and by going into business and failing in my freshman year of high school.
And I want them to teach these things to their children, and so on down the line. I want my family to be strong men and bold women, who know that truth and beauty live in the world, free to any who would extend their hands and put forth the effort, like the elderberry tree in our front yard or the lemongrass that grows on every hill and lot.
I grew up in an industrial neighborhood, handling guns, talking to strangers, and walking all the busy streets I could find. I’m going to give these same gifts to my children.
And I am damned proud of it.
I, too, grew up with great independence. Today, I have a fairly independent 9-year-old daughter. She’d be more independent if I weren’t worried the other moms I know would stone me, scorn me or never let their child have a sleepover at our house again.
I recently suggested to my daughter and the next door neighbor’s child (who’s 11) that they could walk to the pond in our gated neighborhood to feed the ducks and turtles. The neighbor child quickly said she wasn’t allowed out of the cul de sac without an adult. This poor child rides her bike around and around the circle in our cul de sac! Give me a break!
I let my daughter walk alone two streets over to visit another friend in the (gated) neighborhood, but this child’s mom drives her daughter back and forth to my house.
See what I’m up against!
My young childhood was in rural Nebraska in the 1970s, and I had parents of the “be home for dinner” parenting philosophy, so I enjoyed a lot of freedoms from a young age. These included such mad behavior as riding stunts on our bicycles, building treehouses, swimming in irrigation ditches, and shooting BB guns — all of which I’m sure are roundly verboten to 7-to-10-year-olds in 2008 America.
When I was 10, the family moved to the “big” city of Lincoln, where we lived in a relatively urban neighborhood near the agricultural college. Luckily I was just at the age where climbing trees was becoming less interesting than things like movie theaters or shopping malls.
I don’t remember having any strict boundaries of any sort in either environment. I certainly got in trouble for “running off” but that was because I hadn’t told anyone where I was going beforehand. But the question is “when did you feel grown up,” isn’t it?
When I was 11, I rode my bike to the mall, about 2 or 3 miles distant from our house. I remember vividly that I had three dollars with me, enough to buy a soda, play a video game, and (fittingly) purchase a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book.
None of this behavior was worthy of comment. All the kids I knew lived this way, and many of them were “latchkey kids” so beloved by after-school specials.
The fascinating thing to me is that the world has in most ways become a much SAFER place since that time. Child abductions are down, violent crime is down, street gangs are quieter, and so forth.
Case in point: I started delivering newspapers when I was 12, just one year after a sensational case where a paperboy IN MY TOWN was kidnapped, tortured and murdered. I don’t recall ANYONE saying to me or anyone else that kids shouldn’t deliver newspapers. It was just regarded as this weird and awful fluke thing that happened, but it didn’t have anything particular to do with “us.” Should such a heinous thing happen now I’m sure it would be swiftly followed by laws forbidding 12-year-old boys from going outdoors before 6 am or after 6 pm.
You know, “for our safety.”
Lenore, you might find this article interesting: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=462091&in_page_id=1770
That map is a heartbreaker and the first thing I thought of when I read your article and the responses.
My geographic range at age 9 would have encompassed a radius of about 5 miles (in the 1960s), with 2 lakes, a swimming hole, and a creek. My happiest memories of childhood came from those hours alone exploring.
Just want to point your attention to this description of a boyhood: http://georgebuehler.com/Stuart%20Little.html
I never tire of reading it.
I grew up on a farm that had MANY potential risks for getting injured. My Dad was single and I was alone ALOT. Being a smart and cautious kid, I never got hurt (too badly) while climbing farm machinery, up on the roof, walking in the fields for miles, riding my bike for miles, and cooking in the kitchen! I loved my independence and I think it has helped me always try to find ulterior ways of living life and has allowed me to have an entrepreneurial spirit.
My son has symptoms of ADHD and as such, his body is always moving forward and his brain left behind…he gets hurt alot - just around the house. I don’t think I would trust a boy like that to thrive in the independent environment that I grew up in. I think he might kill himself. But, my daughter, on the other hand - is just like me and I think she would be like a pig in *you know what* on the farm.
My husband grew up with a over protective mother. We live in the city now and he always watches our kids as they wait for the school bus at the end of the street and comments on how they don’t look both ways before crossing the street. He doesn’t trust them to make decisions. Helmets are always on when they are riding their bikes. My husband doesn’t trust them to take care of themselves. If I go with the kids in traffic, then I make them wear their helmets.
I found your website while searching for an appropriate age for my kids ride their bikes to school. They are 7 now…so maybe a few more years…9 sounds good.
We’ll be moving to the country in a few years…on the farm I grew up on…so it should be interesting to see them run free!
I remember a childhood filled with adventures as my mother spent a lot of time away from the home. She was a single mother and was busier with her new friends than she wanted to spend time with her kids. So we got the chance to explore and do things like find the local dumping ground. We spent hours inside the old laundromat dryers spinning until we almost threw up. We spend hours pretending we were McGyver before the show ever hit the air. I remember rolling an old tire down the street for fun. So our independent time was free range and we lived.
In the early years, when we had a babysitter who was an teenager she was the one that molested us. So in my opinion, being free range was a much better option.
By age 4, I was going to the candy store around the corner to buy cigarettes for older relatives–with a note, to be sure I came back with the right brand. This was Brooklyn, early ’70s. Imagine trying that today.
When I was 10, I was allowed to ride my horse along the side of a busy two-lane highway. In addition, my brother and I would frequently ride our motorcycles almost 6 miles into town for an ice cream.
My mom is from London so we would spend our summers there visiting family. My brother and I would frequently leave the house and wouldn’t return until it was dark. Riding the London underground at ages 10 & 12 just wasn’t a big deal!
I suppose I had a bit of an unusual childhood since I grew up on a small horse farm in a suburb just outside of Chicago. I did all sorts of things growing up that would make many helicopter parents cringe… I mucked (cleaned) the stalls, drove all sorts of tractors as soon as my legs could reach the pedals. At times, I resented working so hard at such a young age — we were also a livestock feed dealer supplying other horse farms in the area — but as I look back, it made me develop a certain work ethic and independent streak.
I think this trend of antibiotic everything for kids is somewhat to blame for a huge spike in immune issues and allergies.
At any rate, I think another thing lacking in many parents these days is the desire to instill a good work ethic in their children. So when they do come to an age to enter the work force, their expectations are grossly misaligned with reality.
I grew up in 1980s Birmingham, AL, the only child of a single parent. I spent *a lot* of time on my own.
From 4th grade until 7th grade - or from ages 8 until 11 - I walked from my downtown Catholic gradeschool to the public library. It was about a 10 block walk, which I made with my backpack and a saxophone. I stayed at the library until Ma picked me up. I did my homework and read books and no one bothered me. If they did, however, the many librarians took care of the problem because I’d been instructed to ask them for help.
My mom was a cop and worked 11 to 7 overnight. By the time I was 10 years old, I was staying home overnight alone, getting myself up, dressed and fed in the mornings so that by the time Ma pulled up, I was ready to be taken to school. Not only that, but we had a gun in the house and I managed not only to not shoot myself, but not shoot her, my friends or any of the neighbors. Why? Because once I took the gun out and got caught. I wasn’t spanked - but Ma and I did have a long conversation about the use of guns and under what circumstances that should come about. I was made to clean the gun, reassemble it, lock it up and put it away. And after that, it had lost its allure.
In the summers, I rode my 10-speed (which I didn’t learn to ride until *after* I learned to drive the riding lawnmower at my grandfather’s farm) to swim practice at 6AM and stayed at the pool until just before sunset, giving myself enough time to get home while it was still light out so visibility wasn’t a problem. The public pool? About 3 miles away. Supervision at the pool? Teenaged lifeguards, after my swim coach went to his “day job.” Did I miss my “before dark” curfew? Maybe once - but I never did it again because being trapped in the house for a week without TV, video games or my friends taught me a lesson.
By 12, I had my own “lawn care” business with my best friend, Alex. My mom or his mom would drop us off in a suburban neighborhood and we’d walk the streets cutting grass on weekends from the early morning until late afternoon. We had a push mower, a weedwhacker, hedge clippers and a rake. Oh - and the mower was gas powered, and we gassed it up ourselves. And because this was an all day job, we actually carried with us a full gas can. At the end of the day, we could be counted on to have at least $100 each in our pockets, some of which we saved (dang it, Ma! I *earned* that money!), but most of which we spent on Polo shirts.
Alex and I, and his younger brother, Shaun, burned off our bangs and eyebrows lighting a grill. Alex’s dad’s response: I told you not to use all that lighter fluid. Mr. Rhudy then showed us how to light the grill without lighter fluid - a skill many of my girlfriends don’t have to this day.
We lost our shoes in a run-off pipe, playing in a blow up canoe after a torrential rain. We weren’t spanked for getting muddy or coming home wet or for being chased by dogs (long story). We were spanked for losing our shoes. Next time we went down there, we kept our shoes on, so as to be ready to run from those dogs.
We made potato guns and played with machetes (we were intrepid explorers in the woods around Alex’s). We climbed trees and blew up GI Joes with M80s. We have all our limbs, all our fingers, all six eyes (between the three of us) and only rarely got bloodied in any serious sense.
I’ve travelled internationally and managed to get into and out of some fine scrapes. I’m currently a second year law student, and the kids that are in my classes - while smart and accomplished people - can hardly manage to register for classes, file their taxes (”I have to file taxes? I’ve never filed my taxes before!”), and study for exams at the same time. I shudder to think what is going to happen to them when they are actual lawyers, responsible not only for their personal lives, but the legal representation of another person.
How else are kids supposed to learn how to prioritize or problem solve without actually ever having to do it themselves? How are they supposed to recognize their “gut reactions”/instincts - a very important part of evolution! - if they never have to have a gut reaction or a gut check?
I have a lot of first-time parent friends… And every time one of the kids starts to learn how to walk, I have to give the same lesson: Let that kid fall down, and don’t make a move unless he cries. If you jump up every time he seems like he’s having a problem, you are setting yourself up for a lifetime moments of minor hysteria that could all be avoided if you let him bump his head a few times. He’ll stop climbing on the table like that if you let him fall off it one good time. And that seems to be true in a lot of other situations. Want your kid to learn about money, but she’s being stubborn and spending every dime of allowance she gets? Give her $50 for the weekend and let ‘er rip. Tell her you have to eat, live and travel on that $50 all weekend long. She’ll come to appreciate the fact that one day, Mom’s refrigerator won’t be open and that $50 can do you a lot more good if not spent on stuff you don’t need.
Gerard F.! I remember my aunt used to send me down to the Circle K (7-Eleven, basically) for menthols and a six-pack! She lived in the house my grandfather built that she’d grown up in on the farm? And the convenience store was a 1/2 mile down a two-lane highway. These errands started when I was 7. She would also have me light her smokes while she played poker with her friends… I lit them from one of the eyes on the gas stove.
In the late 70’s and early 80’s, my sister and I would ride our bikes to the county landfill and look for items that could be used for our multiple forts! We had friends that couldn’t leave their yards and their parents would ridicule us for “being wild” and would make snide remarks about how our parents let us “run around”. Interestingly, my sister and I own our own very successful companies….
I flew alone last summer at age 16 and my dad had one of his employees on the same plane and another waiting to walk me to catch my connection. Seriously? I managed to convinced the guy that I’d be fine once i got to my new gate, and I was so fortunate (haha) on the way back to make the connection all by myself!
I’m in my 60’s and grew up Chicago. Our parents watched us but let us go. When I 6 my mom would send me to the store to get milk. The store was across the street and she could see me coming and going but I did it myself. I did drop a gallon once though. I’d come home from school, change my clothes and go to the park 4 blocks away whenever I felt like it. Once we knew where the library was we went every two weeks and when we were told by the librarian we couldn’t go in the adult section my dad came back with us and got us adult library cards, and that was at 9 years old. At 9 my brother and I went downtown on the bus and the El with a 10 year old to see a radio show. At 9 my mom gave me bus money and directions to the “Loop” . She gave me a package for my aunt which I dropped off and immediately returned home. 1 bus , 1 El. down and the same back. And all on one transfer That’s when I knew I had arrived. At 12 my brother and I went from the Northwest side to the Museum of Science and Industry on the Southeast side. One bus , should have been 2 Els but it was 3 Els because we got lost, but we made it. I could bore you with my “kid” travel exploits but won’t any longer. Basically, if we wanted to go somewhere and had the bus fare and were going to be back by a decent time, we did it. Or we rode our bikes all over, in traffic. Suffice it to say, our parents who had not the benefits of sage advice from child psychologists and child rearing experts raised some self sufficient adults.
I was born in the mid 1950s as the middle of six children. I have fond memories of riding my bike throughout the town I grew up in, going down into the storm drains led by my beloved older brother, walking to and from school which was 1 1/2 miles from home and just enjoying my freedom. All of the children in the neighborhood would leave our homes after breakfast and would not return until we heard my father’s distinctive whistle or my neighbor’s old cow bell. Lunch was scrounged whereever we could find it. We made forts, created castles and climbed up and down hills. How carefree we were!
We learned how to ride our bicycles or our “flexible flyers” safely because we practiced. We could pass the physical fitness tests because we were fit. Few were overweight. How confident we were!
Now I live in a very safe small town and many consider me a bad mother because I let my daughter walk to and from school. The school sponsors “Walk to School” days with teachers stationed on street corners in a vain attempt to get parents to let their children walk. I want to give my daughter the freedom to walk up town for an ice cream but I am afraid of the comments I will get. None of her classmates are allowed to be “free range” and many are chubby, computer-addicted couch potatoes. It is a very sad state of affairs.
I grew up on a dairy farm in the 80’s. By the time I was my daughter’s age (11) I was driving farm tractors, milking cows, helping to deliver calves. I would also ride my bike (alone) 5 miles into town to see my friends and babysit children under the age of 1.
I was under the impression that as my daughter grew up, I would find my apron strings gradually losing, a natural progression in a sense. This has not been the case, however, it takes a great deal of effort, on my part, to give her the freedoms she needs to develop into the (eventual) adult who will be able to succeed in this world without me.
I agonize over her riding her bike through several city blocks to visit friends, but at the same time, I’m the one encouraging her to do so. Children need their independence in order to build confidence. Talk to your children about the importance of making good decisions, about never getting into a stranger’s car and about how to find help if they are faced with a troubling situation, and then, hold your breath as you send them outside to play.
Thank you for your web site.
From Native Son, by the Judybats.
(What have you been doing, who were you with, where were you?)
“Nothing, noone, nowhere, maybe devil maycare.
Nothing, noone, nowhere, I’m still picking things from the air.”
Yep, parents would ask and I wouldn’t have a clue.
Those were the days.
At 5, I would walk a mile to the store for penny candy. At 6, I could ride my brother’s mini-bike. I fell from trees, got thrown from a horse (more than once), learned to swim by being thrown in the lake by an older brother, jumped out of the hayloft, played hide and seek in the dark, and went ice skating on the little pond by myself. All of this before i was 8 years old. Would I let my kids do the same??? Yes (except for the swimming thing). When I was 14 I would ride my bike 10 miles to work. If it was raining, my Dad would be nice and pick me up. I was definately a free range child, and I have raised my two girls the same way. They are now 13 and 18 and know how to take care of themselves because I have allowed them to learn how instead of sheltering them.
I was born in 1979 in a tiny community in Coos County, Oregon. By the time I was 4 I was wondering around my grandparents cattle ranch with only a dog watching over me. Mind you, the dog was very protective, did heel me away from the well, and did kill a snake when it crossed my path. But by 5 I was wandering with my 4 year old sister through the fields and through the woods.
Back in “town” I walked to school almost every day by 5th grade. I was babysitting other kids by the time I was 12 on a regular basis. It was my summer job.
You might think, yeah, but that’s in the country where it’s safe to raise your kids that way. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Growing up in the country is every bit as dangerous as growing up in the city, just in different ways. In the city there are things for kids to do and place for them to go where they can stay out of trouble. But in the country they are much more likely to find their