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I decided to take the kids up for Thanksgiving since they
hardly remember every going there. It’s a small little farm out in the
country. My siblings that live there
argue that it’s not in the country it’s in town. They say the country is on the outer edges of
the community. I say if you can see a cow from your porch, then you’re in the
country.
Of course, being the story teller I am, I worked up their
anticipation for the trip. Including how there would be dogs, cats, goats,
horses, and chickens. They were excited—even about the cold, heartless snow
that might possible greet us. The one bit of information they clung to was the
possibility of being to roam around outside without any adult supervision. They
were in the country! My poor little city babes cannot go anywhere without an
adult and there’s not much land to wander around on anyway. Of course, we go to
the park but it’s usually quite populated.
Somehow, this idea got stretched into they could roam the
neighborhood freely—“like mom used to do when she was a kid.” I’ve told them
the stories of being able to go play in nature whether it was the mountains
behind us in Flagstaff, the wheat fields and almond orchids in California, or
the desert in Page. We could leave for the day and be home before dark. No one
worried about us. We didn’t have cellphones and our imaginations ran rampant. I
had no idea how stifled children are today. They can’t go anywhere. It’s not
safe. It’s sad.
I thought for sure they would forget about it once they were
entertained with all of the things to do on the property. They didn’t forget
and came and asked me for the dog collar. I knew that would take them a bit and
went downstairs to check on them. Dona had given it to them and they didn’t
waste time to begin their freedom journey on the country roads. I had intended to have their older cousin go
with them—he would be the undercover chaperone and they would be none the
wiser. I couldn’t go with them because that would ruin the fantasy of no adult
supervision.
When I discovered they had left already, I grabbed Taylor
and told him we had to go find them. We drove around and found them lollygagging
a couple of blocks away. Pure heaven. They reprimanded me when they thought I
was following them. “Mom! You can’t watch us. You said we could walk by
ourselves.” I lied and told them Taylor was disappointed that he didn’t get to
go with him. Taylor got out and down the road they continued.
I remember when our parents cringed at boys wearing long
hair and having earrings. The music we listened to was disgusting, and fads
were just making us all a bunch of followers. I used to tell my parents, “Oh
every generation changes and the old people are always appalled. Your parents
didn’t think Elvis was a good influence.” His gyrating hips were going to be
the downfall of society. As a teenager, I thought how much worse could things
get? In the 80s we had peaked in pop culture. I realize now that the “getting
worse” is not JUST pop culture but having a talk with your two six year olds
about what they should do if a gunman came to their school. Unreal.
How sad is life that kids long for a walk down a street?
Things aren’t the same. It seems like loss is what triggers gratitude. I wrote
this soon after I returned home from Utah. Since then, the Connecticut tragedy
has occurred. It makes me even sadder. It makes this whole reflection even more
sobering. What happened to childhood? I wish had an answer; even a suggestion.
But, there’s nothing. I’d like to leave
my comments with a feel-good, but I’m scared, disgusted, saddened, and
emotional. I cried so much this weekend.
What must those parents be going through?
I want to lock my kids up and never let them leave my sight, but I know
that’s not the answer. Elvis, and
everything he represented, really has left the building.
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