Free Range Children

     So, a couple in Washington, DC is under investigation for neglect because they allow their 10 and 6 year old children to walk to and play in the local park by themselves.  The children, and others like them, are deemed “free range”.  I love this new term “free range children” (not!). It sounds more like a description of non-Perdue chickens as opposed to children.  Who comes up with this stuff?

     When I was a young adult, we had latchkey kids.  When I was a child, however, I was on my own.  Period.  The chief of police lived next door to us, yet no one ever accused my parents of neglect.

     I attended grammar school on the other side of the city I lived in, a 30 minute ride on the public service bus that I rode daily. The year was September of 1960. I remember being a kindergartner, age 5, and my father taking me on the bus, showing me where to get on and off, and how to navigate the various intersections that were necessary for me to cross.  I used to arrive so early that the school doors were locked, prohibiting access.  The weather didn’t matter.  I patiently, or impatiently, waited outside, sometimes for an hour.  Was that considered parental neglect?  No.  My parents fostered my independence out of necessity, because they had to go to work and they had no other choice.  I imagine they would never have gotten away with it in these times.

     The street I grew up on was busy, even in the early sixties.  It was the main drag, which cut across the entire city, like the scoring on a loaf of French bread.  Our house was located at the top of a small incline, and my father taught me to cross there, where I had clear visibility, rather than where I actually got off of the bus, at the bottom, which was also an intersection.  I learned very young to be cautious.

     I was not allowed to have a key to the house at that time, and was compelled to wait on the front steps for my mother to come home from work. (Are you noticing a pattern here? I spent a good portion of my childhood just waiting!)  On one occasion, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, that I went behind the house, lifted my skirt, and peed in the woods.  Luckily, child protective services (and predators) were not around.  That little incident landed me a key, however, leading to another learning experience.  My folks instructed me never to enter the house if anything looked amiss, in case the house was ever broken into.  That taught me, at a very young age, to be aware of my surroundings.  Upon arrival, I would take off my uniform, place it on a hanger, and hang it on the bathroom doorknob, because that was all that I could reach.  I would have a snack, and then start my homework, never getting into any mischief while my parents were not there.  They taught me to be neat, disciplined, and obedient.

     In the summer, I was often home all day, every day, by myself.  I slept late, and watched TV until my folks arrived home from work.  Have I mentioned that we did not have smoke or carbon monoxide detectors?  I doubt they even existed at that time. 

     Currently, it appears that, increasingly, busybody people stick their noses where they don’t belong.  People despise children who misbehave in public places, yet report people who would discipline their children to the authorities.  People condemn those who keep their children in the house in front of the TV all day, yet report people like the folks in DC, for allowing and encouraging their children to be outside, for teaching them to cross the street, and to be independent.  No matter what folks do as parents, there will always be some non-expert waiting to condemn them.  Quite frankly, I think people should mind their own business.

                              My beloved father, and teacher. I love him to the moon and back: