Kids Today

I went for a run today in Prospect Park: 6K.  Pretty proud of myself for sweating up the hills around the loop – I figured I needed to get in shape cause why the hell not?

But that's besides the point.  On the slow walk back home, I stole two moments from moms and their kids. Which was ironic (I'll get to that later.)

First moment: "Let's go Sara.  It's ok if it's cloudy. What's the worse that can happen – that you'll get wet?"  Sara faltered, looked up at Mom, and agreed. It's just rain, huh. It's the detail that matters. Mom wasn't accusatory or demanding, or even annoyed.  She was flippant.  Hey, it's a literal walk in the park. Sure, the clouds are coming but getting wet is not that bad – it could even be fun!

Second moment: "Jake, Jake – stop jumping around like that.  You can't dance around like that when you're holding an ice cream cone.. you're getting ice cream all over your shirt!"  Again, I think Mom was more amused at Jake's antics than annoyed.  She had obviously let Jake dance around for some time before pointing out that he had dribbled ice cream all over his shirt.  And the park was still blocks away.  Did she say that because she saw that Jake almost ran into me?  (That's another idea altogether.)  Doesn't matter, does it?  Jake was having fun – a permanent grin was plastered to his face.

Side point: Upper middle class parents have a more positive interaction with their children.  Unfortunate but true.  Lower class families often resort to yelling or negative reinforcement to get the idea across. I'm not arguing that higher incomes beget better people – but often times, they form healthier parent-child interactions.  I would yell too (like a Dad I saw in the park with his kid who was over-enthusiastic on pedaling his bike over a hill) – if I had more stress in dealing with life.  Anyways – just an observation, not a theory.

Main point.  I remember my parents zealously guarding me from the sun, the rain and the wind.  "Come inside or you'll get a fever!" They also taught me to stand still. "Sit and behave." Maybe it was cultural.  I grew up in a risk-adverse environment, one that was ostensibly tailored so that I could achieve great things in risk-adverse environments such as cubicles, laboratories or hospitals. (Didn't turn out that way, but hey – life is full of surprises.)

I can't help but be a cheerleader for Sara and Jake and their Moms.

Sara's going to grow up dancing in the rain. Maybe she'll take some time off after high school and explore the world, finding out about life in villages and favelas instead of the classroom.  Maybe she'll be a corporate success, not undeterred by the glass ceiling at all – heck, she won't realize it's even there as she glides into the top ranks.  She'll take chances. She'll climb mountains. Study dolphins. Be an actress. Be a gorgeous size 4 or 5 or 6 when all the other girls skimp to be a size 2 or 1.  Maybe she'll discover what a walk in the park life really is, when the worst that can happen is getting wet.

Jake's going to spill stuff all over.  He's going to continue to spill his talents, his mind, his zest for dancing - dancing into the oblivion – dancing against suffering and cynicism and fakeness of it all. He'll dance to his own tune, when gurus and preachers and teachers will grim-facedly turn away from his dancing. What's there to dance about? What to dance for?  Maybe Jake's going to taste all the tartness and sweetness of life and dance with that goofy grin still plastered on – cause his Mom said it was ok.  What's the worst that can happen? Get ice cream dribbled all over your shirt? (But then, he stopped, like the polite kid that he was.)

What happened to kids nowadays? It's a risk-averse society that is raising a generation of kids who find normalcy in therapists, yoga sessions, and the passive interaction through blinking monitors and screens.

Sure, I skinned my knee, cut my elbows — fell down a lot when I was growing up.  I played outside until dark.  My buddies and I would pummel each other with stick-swords (I eventually got my Dad to carve me one), dashing in and out of our 'headquarters' until dark.  In the absence of sticks, we swiped at each other with elephant grass.  A sore tailbone from being dragged across rapids in a tube.  A scar on my lip from running smack dab into a chef carrying a stock pot.  Three scars, like claw marks, adorn my knee where I barreled down a hill, hit a sandy patch, and learned how to fly (and not to land) as my bike lay in a mangled heap.

So I got hurt. But it was ok, cause I learned about life and friends and picking myself back up more than I ever would have working on my 'motor-skills' playing video-games.  I didn't need a therapist when I was sad, or when things didn't go my way.  I didn't attend yoga sessions when things were crazy at home.  I just was a kid. I played, I got in trouble, and I learned how things worked (and how things didn't work.)

Perhaps this generation of coddled kids are raised by a culture coming to terms with feminism.  As gender roles are fused -- men becoming metro and women becoming.. well, men, how we raise our kids changes too.  Am I full of shit? It's ironic, isn't it? But then again, here's a quote:

Muscular exercise and fresh air are necessary to the child to promote growth and development of all the vital organs, the brain included.  If the motor centres are not well developed, the adult becomes and impractical dreamer." - John Tyler, biology professor, Amherst College, September 2, 1906