MAD MUM MUSINGS
Parents Not Allowed
I see a woman hovering under a seven-foot play frame, arms aloft like a wedding guest waiting to catch the bridal bouquet. But then she turns and I see not anticipation, but outright terror on her face.
“Oh, my God, she’s going to break her neck,” she gasps, horrified. “Anyone know who her mother is?”
The kid apparently in such grave peril is mine—except she’s been climbing that play frame since she was four. When I tell the woman this, she stares at me, eyes wide with recrimination, and I realize that, yikes: this mama bear’s a helicopter.
A species of parent that is all too common in our favorite playground.
I love taking my five-and eight-year-old kids to the playground for many reasons: first and foremost so they can play and muck about—with other kids or by themselves—as well as learn to negotiate the world on their own terms.
They run around, laugh, climb play frames and make friends—all the usual things kids do at parks and playgrounds—while I sit on a bench at a safe distance, chat to other parents or (gasp!) idly scroll through my phone.
For my two, it’s a space that remains free from everyday restrictions (within reasonable limits). I don’t stand over them or interfere and it seems this, at least to the helicopters, makes me not just a Mad Mum but a Very Bad one, perhaps even worthy of social services intervention.
Because helicopters come to the playground to be Alert At All Times, hovering endlessly over their charges—coaxing up the ladder and down the slide, bouncing gently on the seesaw, swinging endlessly on the swing.
I know not every parent is the same, and there’s no denying that it can be hard to just let kids at it, especially if it’s your and Junior’s first time in the place, and you see everyone else hand-holding. And if you don’t, it immediately makes you look like you don’t give a shit.
I’m also sure no one ever thinks he or she is a helicopter parent, and it goes without saying that everyone is just trying to do right by their child.
But does more worry equal more love?
For my part, I’m inclined to be free-range because I remember my own childhood and how my parents didn’t have the time, let alone the desire, to watch every misstep or foresee every potential problem.
Don’t child-proof the world, is my motto. World-proof the child. (Thankfully, my husband agrees with me.)
And every time someone else is horrified that he or I let our brood try something potentially “too dangerous for their age,” I wave concern aside with the assertion that aren’t they better off learning now—before it’s too late—to respect the danger of what they are doing and negotiate it safely?
I want them to try things they thought they couldn’t do, fail, try again and repeat until they are successful. Isn’t this a necessary life skill in itself?
Psychological studies also show that children benefit from, if not actual danger, the feeling of danger and related sensations that result from activities like climbing up to get a bird’s-eye view, playing with dangerous tools or exploring on their own.
With that in mind, I recently read an article about a playground in New York that embraces an interesting philosophy: parents (helicopters or otherwise) are not allowed.
After the adults sign a waiver, their kids are let loose on a small field full of all kinds of detritus—tires, a plastic water cooler, pieces of wood in all sorts of sizes and shapes, thrown-out household equipment, etc.—where they do what kids have done forever: have fun and figure out how to make and break things.
Given all the stuff lying around for them to play with, it’s inevitable that some of them will occasionally get dirty and scuffed up and scratched.
In fact, that’s pretty much the point.
So, parents, maybe try to switch off those whirring fret-motors at the playground, come back down to earth once in a while and even consider sitting with some of us feckless miscreants for a minute or two?
It’ll work wonders for your nerves and you never know, you and your kids might just have some fun...
* * *
Clara Cooper couldn’t wait to get back to school.
She felt herself nearly shaking with excitement as her mother pulled up in front of Applewood Primary. Clara just wanted things to get back to normal; she was eager to go to drama class again and see her friends and, as much as she would only admit it secretly to herself, she even missed having to do homework. She felt desperate to feel like a normal kid, instead of a sick one who had to be quarantined from her life and everyone in it.
“All set, honey?” her mum asked with a smile.
Clara was about to reply when her stupid brother interrupted her.
“Why would anyone be excited to go back to school?” he sneered. “I’d rather be at home watching TV.”
Sometimes Jake could be an idiot. He just didn’t get it—but Clara wasn’t going to let him ruin her mood.
“Yeah, I’m ready, Mum. I’m really excited, actually.”
“That’s my girl,” said her mum. “At least I know which one of you is the smart one,” she teased. “Do you want me to walk you in? Or...”
But Clara was already shaking her head. Jake had flung open the door of the car and jumped from the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. He threw up a hand in salute and shouted, “Bye, Mum,” as he ran toward his friends, who were gathered at the classroom doors.
Clara wanted to follow his lead. After a couple of weeks of being sick and coddled around the clock (not that she hadn’t liked that—she had felt terrible, after all), she was now ready to spread her wings and be independent.
“I’m fine, I just want to go see my friends. Is that OK?” she asked politely.
Her mother grinned. “Of course! Now, just wait a minute, though. Let me get a picture of you—I want to put it on Facebook. So many people have been asking about you and I want to show them just how well you look and how excited you are. Speaking of which, Auntie Fiona is picking you up later. Now that you’re better, Cam and Brian are staying with us for the afternoon, and she’s going to bring you all back to our house.”
“Great.” Clara forced a smile, but in truth she wasn’t too keen on her cousins coming to visit. Brian was OK, but Cam was just so moody and nasty to everyone. She didn’t know why his mum and dad didn’t warn him to be kind and show manners like hers insisted she and Jake always did. But, she supposed, some kids were just like that.
Her mum held up her iPhone and snapped a picture, nodding in approval. “Perfect. Now you go and have a lovely day. Dad and I are proud of you, sweetheart—you’re such a trouper.”
Clara waved goodbye and hopped from the car. Taking a deep breath, she felt like skipping, but tried to play it cool, scanning the outside of the school for her friends. Spotting some other girls from her class, she strode with purpose in their direction.
As she walked, her thoughts briefly turned to Rosie. She felt a small burst of anxiety enter her chest. Clara knew that her classmate was still in the hospital—at least that was what she had heard her mum say. She was a bit worried about Rosie.
They weren’t best friends or anything, but she still really liked her. Rosie was fun, not at all girlie and she loved playing dinosaurs with the boys. Clara liked dinosaurs, too, but her best friends, Rachel and Megan, didn’t really, so it was nice to have another girl who enjoyed playing with them, too.
And she also felt a bit bad for Rosie because her dad died. Clara really couldn’t imagine what that must be like, but guessed it must be a terrible thing. She couldn’t imagine losing her own dad. And now poor Rosie was in the hospital—she had become much sicker with measles than Clara.
That was something else she couldn’t imagine because she had felt like she was going to die while she had them. What must it be like to feel even worse?
Furrowing her brow, Clara decided that she would keep Rosie in her thoughts, but that she wouldn’t let her worries ruin her first day back. Picking up her pace, she felt her spirits buoy once again, especially as she heard the squeals of delight from Rachel and Megan. She ran the final steps to her friends and they all cried out in excitement.
However, the girls’ obvious joy at being reunited attracted the attention of another classmate they usually tried to avoid.
Kevin Campbell.
The young boy approached the three girls with a scowl on this face. He was flanked on either side by two of his other friends—older boys who liked to be nasty.
Great, more meanies.
“Who said you could come back to school?” he sneered. “Are you trying to get everyone else sick now?”
Clara turned to look directly at Kevin. She hated having to talk to him, but she knew from experience that ignoring him just made him worse. So she faced him down, like her mum and dad had taught her.
“Principal Connelly talked to my doctor and my parents. Everyone said I was ready to come back. Just go away. It’s none of your business anyway,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She felt Megan stand reassuringly close alongside her.
But this answer didn’t satisfy Kevin.
“It is my business. I don’t want to get sick because of you. I don’t want my friends to catch your rotten diseases. You know, I heard that Rosie could die. Do you know that if that happens, it will be your fault, Clara? I wonder how old you have to be to go to jail. They might not lock you up for killing her, but they will definitely lock your parents up—and then you and Jake will be put up for adoption or something.” His friends laughed loudly, which merely served to egg Kevin on. “Probably be better that way anyway. My mum says that your parents are stupid and crazy. So it’s good if they do get locked up. I mean, murderers should go to jail—especially ones who kill kids.”
Clara felt a lump grow in her throat. Her mum had told her that Rosie getting sick hadn’t been her fault. But now she wasn’t so sure. What if Rosie did die? She willed herself not to cry, but still a tear leaked from her eye.
Of course, Kevin saw it. “Are you going to cry, Clara?” He guffawed. “Well, you probably should. If I were you, I would feel terrible for killing one of my friends.”
“Shut up, Kevin,” yelled Rachel, trying to intervene on behalf of her friend. “Clara hasn’t killed anyone and Rosie isn’t going to die. Just shut up. You don’t know anything.”
She and Megan began pulling her away in the direction of the classroom. Clara allowed herself to be led—anything to get away.
But regardless of the distance they put between her and the bullies, Kevin’s words still echoed in Clara’s brain.
If Rosie died, would it be her fault?