Children today are kept in cocoons until they are deemed by the authorities to be old enough to do things by themselves, which appears to be an age far older than it used to be. In case parents forget the necessity for this, we hear lurid stories of Child Protective Services scooping up stray children who are playing or walking home alone, and woe betide the parents when they try to get them back. It was not always thus.
When I was eight years old I had buck teeth (my “friends” called me Bugs Bunny) and I started having orthodontia. World War II had just ended. We had one car (no cars were manufactured during the war) and a growing family. I had two younger brothers and a third one on the way. We lived in a suburb of Buffalo, New York; the orthodontist had an office downtown.
The question was how to get me to the orthodontist. My father carpooled to work (gasoline was rationed), but even on the days my mother had access to a car she had better things to do than drive downtown with a bunch of rambunctious boys. The solution was for me to take the bus. I knew the bus routes and where to get off. I crossed Main Street by myself, being careful to observe the traffic light. Coming home I had the choice of two different routes with stops about equidistant from my house. I never had any problems.
My brothers and I were pretty much allowed to spend our free time wherever we wanted, as long as our parents knew when we were coming home. Starting in fifth grade the boys played tackle football after school in the fall. No adults were present and we wore whatever equipment we could get our hands on. We chose up sides, made our own rulings without benefit of referees and rarely got hurt badly enough to sit out more than a few plays.
The first year I played I was small and didn’t actually do anything, but there weren’t any coaches to yell at me and I added to the headcount. At the first game of my sixth grade year I tackled a boy who was running a practice play. That was the start of my participation. I even scored two touchdowns that year. In seventh grade I scored twenty touchdowns and tore the shirt off the back of a boy I was tackling. That wasn’t funny because money was tight in those days. We moved to a farm farther away from downtown Buffalo when I was in eighth grade, which was probably just as well because the boys who would go on to play high school football were beginning to wear cleats, and it had gotten more dangerous.
Flash forward to when my son walked to our neighborhood school alone, starting when he was very young. When he was nine he announced he no longer needed a babysitter after school. When he started sixth grade he was to attend Malaga Cove School, on the cliff above the beach. We live at 700 feet. Since the Palos Verdes school system has no buses, our choices were private or public bus, or carpooling, which was a problem because my wife and I both worked.
My son and I looked for a better solution. We found a walking route to the school, partly on hills and through canyons, and partly on sidewalks. Going to school was downhill and a breeze. To entice him to walk home uphill I paid him the bus fare, with which he bought baseball cards that later helped him purchase a house. He talked others into walking with him, and they had adventures, some of which we didn’t hear about until years later. It was probably just as well.
In spite of tales of how dangerous the world is, today is the safest time it’s ever been for human beings, especially in the US. Instead of coddling and “protecting” our children from faceless dangers, wouldn’t it be better to have them start developing independence at a young age?
I do believe that in the countryside, kids can be freer to roam. In the city, it is the parent's responsibility, like you did, to give the child guidance about where they will be safe or won't. But by all means, give them a chance to face a little adversity and grow up in the process.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane