Did you have much free rein as a child, or did you mostly play under supervision?
Given some basic survival skills, my peers and I had abundant freedom to roam.
My memory of the woods, a favorite source of my many childhood adventures, conveys why we felt so free.
Into the Woods
While I was young, my parents owned an acre of dense woods that bordered our yard. When my sister and I were around seven and six, respectively, we were allowed to explore it without adult supervision. Our friends could accompany us, too, but no one could go alone.
As for the other rules, we had to get an adult’s permission before disappearing in the trees, and shoes and socks were required. Most importantly, we were to stay out of the canal!
We referred to it as a “canal,” but it was not manmade. The natural waterway, about five feet deep and seven feet across, ran from one end of the property to the other. It then disappeared under the roads on either side and continued to snake through our town.
Speaking of snakes, our fear of encountering such a reptile while taking a swim was the main reason we never shimmied down the embankment to test the water.
Granted, tree roots and prickly vines would have posed a hazard to tender skin, but those weren’t real deterrents to curious children. Nor was any danger of drowning. Much of the time, the slowly moving water barely rose above a foot.
My spunky sister (known for climbing to the top of a tree to inspect a bird’s nest) could have gotten down in the channel and back up again without a hitch. I never saw her do it, though. Wondering if she had when I was not around, I asked her recently if she ever took the plunge. No, never!
Our parents were wise. They warned us about venomous reptiles, not the perils of shallow water. In fact, they told us not to play in the woods from late spring to early fall, when they determined that snakes would be the most active.
No matter the season, we were probably stepping on and around a variety of species, but critters of all types avoided us. With all our stomping and shouting, we were lucky to spot a common squirrel. Nevertheless, we were always on the lookout for wildlife, especially in the canal.
The canal—with everything it revealed and kept secret—was fascinating. Thankfully, a healthy dose of fear kept us from doing anything too stupid, like attempting to leap to the other side or erect a rickety bridge. We knew our limitations. We could not cross caverns like the Road Runner, our favorite cartoon character, and we were not handy with lumber and tools.
One day, however, while we were contemplating the terrain with four other kids, my sister got an idea. Without saying a word, she began tugging on a thick, grey vine that looked as ancient as the tree to which it was attached. I was certain the vine would snap if my sister did what I sensed she had in mind: a Tarzan-style swing across the canal!
“Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” I shouted. “You’ll fall and hit your head and break some bones!”
“Three other kids who were older, meanwhile, where shouting, “Do it! Do it!”
And she did it. Grasping the vine with both hands overhead, my sister stepped to the edge, pushed off, and landed like a pro on the other side. In truth, it was a non-event. Consequently, whether they were afraid or not, the cheerleaders, one by one, took their turns. Despite their three non-events, I silently conducted a personal risk assessment and decided not to follow along.
They weren’t pressuring me, but I still didn’t want them to think of me as a baby. For my excuse, I said, “I’m not going after you bigger kids went and weakened the vine. When it snaps on me, I’ll be the one to fall and hit my head and break some bones!”
The remaining child, who was two years younger than I, seemed relieved and happily followed me when I ran around the property and joined Tarzan’s crew on the other side.
I wasn’t thrilled to be on the little kids’ team, but I knew my capabilities. Less worried about the vine’s integrity, I was rightfully more concerned about failing to push off with enough momentum to reach the other side. I could see myself panicking, suspended over the canal with no good option other than to let go and fall in the water—just as a snake appeared!
Basic Survival Skills
The incident illustrates why our parents granted us freedom. Simply put, they had imparted basic survival skills before letting us go.
- They challenged us to be critical thinkers, not mindless crowd followers. We often heard, “If Johnny puts his hands in the fire, are you going to put your hands in the fire too?”
- As morally responsible individuals, they walked the walk and talked the talked, modeling behavior that we admired and aimed to emulate. No, we did not want to suffer the consequences of disobeying, but besides evading punishment, we aimed to earn their trust as kids who had a strong moral compass.
- They were involved in our lives and available when needed, but our parents didn’t try to monitor our every move or direct every step. The woods were within hollering distance. If we cried for help, someone would come running. However, we were expected to scrape our knees, get bug bites, and look out for snakes. We were shooed outside to interact with our peers and experience nature. Screen time (watching television) was very limited, even on rainy days.
Navigating Life
Frankly, I think my parents would have applauded the Tarzan stunt.
The feat was on par with kids’ gym-class requirements in those days. (Look up photos of boys and girls climbing ropes to the ceiling!) And the vine was secure; my sister had tested it to make sure. Also, all the older kids had the physical stamina to swing and land safely.
The other little kid and I were not equipped, and we had the common sense not to chance it. Furthermore, no one chided us for not trying because the older kids were expected to keep the younger ones safe.
Reflecting on the past, I find a great deal of wisdom in the “old-fashioned” approach to raising children.
Do you?
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