They say it takes a village to raise a child, but ten years later I’m still wondering if they were just supposed to show up or if I was supposed to go online and order a village service. The only time anyone other than family is the least bit interested in my children’s well-being, is if their stray ball accidentally makes it onto Karen’s property or if Susie happens upon them in a parking lot waiting in the car for (gasp!) all of thirty seconds. Then they are all of a sudden VERY interested. When did things change so much and where was I when it happened? Not raising children, clearly. I must have been in college, drunk. It seems as if the only time someone emerges from the wood-works is to tell a mom she is doing something wrong rather than to offer any actual assistance. There was a time when kids could just go out into the neighborhood to play, and the adult residing at the house they happened to land at was automatically designated as the watcher. Not to sound all “get off my lawn,” but we used to leave our houses in the morning and not return until dark, only daring to enter an abode (probably not even our own) during the daytime hours to forage for food. Our parents didn’t know where we were and most of them didn’t care. I’m not saying that this was an ideal parenting style, but it’s a far cry from today’s calling of CPS if children are playing by themselves in their yard or walking to the park unattended by an adult. It used to be an unspoken rule that if a kid fell out of your tree and broke their arm, you would help said child and notify their parents without making a thing of it. Now, all you get is a law suit for allowing them in your tree in the first place and possibly another one if you dare to go within six feet of the precious spawn without parental consent. What have we come to??? We now live in a world where parents (oh, let’s face it, pretty much just moms) get admonished if they are incapable to doing everything on their own or deign to let to their kids have a little freedom to explore their world. “You shouldn’t have had children if you can’t take care of them yourself!” What nonsense. Since the beginning of time, there have been entire communities that raised children all together, everyone helping everyone else, and all members using their strengths to benefit the collective. Somewhere along the line, we became selfish and judgy. What do we have to show for it? A bunch of college-aged kids that can’t do their own laundry and have to have mommy speak to their professors for them when there’s an issue. We are not helping them, or society. I mean, would it kill you to glance out your window, make sure the kids made it to the park OK, shut your trap and go on with your life?
I lived through the eighties. I remember the warnings about strangers and white vans as much as the next forty-year-old. It was drilled into us at every turn and yet we were still basically told to get out of the house by our parents. Were they right or wrong? They could have been nicer about it, I suppose. As new statistics emerged and it was declared that ninety-five percent of missing child cases in the early eighties were runaways and most others had to do with custody battles and parent abduction, it seems that maybe our parents had it at least a little bit right. It wasn’t necessarily that they weren’t watching us, but more that everyone was watching us, little did we know at the time. Unbeknownst to us, we had a village. Yes, children get taken by strangers, but it is not as prevalent as our paranoia leads us to believe. Also, I’m pretty sure mine would be returned to me after the first hour of regaling their captor with Minecraft strategies. Is the fear worth stealing their childhoods over? Or could we maybe, I don’t know, just let the damn kids play and help each other watch out for all of them rather than calling the police?
It’s not only our children that have taken the hit in this new-ish, bizarre land; the expectations for moms is unreal and now, they are supposed to do it alone, most of us while also working. Seventy-five to eighty percent of us work! A little help, please? I remember hearing tales about grandma living with us and helping my mother with the household duties and the baby raising, but I would have cried tears of relief if someone had offered to come and do a load of laundry when my kids were small. When my children were eight weeks old, I had to return to work as a fundamentally drunk person. That’s right, sleep deprivation leads to a similar cognitive impairment to that of which you would experience from attending one of my sorority’s mixers. It’s true, look it up. Why yes, boss, I’m literally hallucinating right now, but I’ll try to get that project done to your standards ASAP. Please excuse me though, I have to go pump in the bathroom first. In what world are we supposed to function properly in this scenario? No one cares. Not our country, not our companies and not even our family. Well, maybe the last one doesn’t apply to some of you lucky ones, but I don’t remember anyone asking me how I was doing. Or pointing out the dark circles under my eyes and offering me some baby-less time in which to take a nap. I would have settled for offering to wipe down my counters or empty the dishwasher. At the very least, someone could have made me a cocktail and slipped me the good snacks.
The good news is, we’re spending more time with our children than ever before, and that has to be a good thing. New technologies, along with the hiring of cleaners, have given us less in the housework department than in the olden days. Instead of locking our kids outside for the day, we are hanging out with them. Parenting has changed, for sure, in a lot of good, less emotionally scarring ways. But, they need their freedom too, and the only way that can safely happen is if we all agree to keep an eye out. If you see kids playing outside, don’t assume they are being neglected. Give them a second glance, make sure they seem OK, and leave them to it. If you see a mom in the grocery store with a crying baby and an unhinged toddler, save the death glare for the bitch who doesn’t return her cart to the corral like a civilized human being. I know this sounds bat-shit crazy, but try offering to help her instead. Your neighbor just had a baby? She doesn’t need your advice, she needs a bottle of wine, a nap and to go to the bathroom in peace. We give what we get. There’s no harm in putting some good karma out into the world. Your kids’ college professors will thank you.
Let's Be Dramatic 