Back to Basics

I grew up in small-town USA. Back then our town had three stoplights, no grocery store, and a Dairy Queen. That was enough.

It was a place where we made our own fun. Where you could count on your neighbor. Where football was life and word definitely got around.

We lived simply. And simple everyday moments were not just moments. They were happiness.

Rainy day tackle football on the golf course behind our house. Riding “the pipeline” on our bikes and finally committing to the huge jump. Tumbling in the front yard to show off to cars as they drove past. Climbing onto the roof to find an open window because we forgot our key and there was no other way in. Leaping off the second story balcony onto the trampoline. Pushing computer chairs down the street dressed in fancy gowns, because why not?

Our town ran on small-town values. Respect and manners were expected. If you did not show them, you would be made to.

There was mudding in my brother’s Z71 during off period, tearing up muddy pastures. Four wheelers in Crosby. Summer days at the lake. Riding jet skis across the water to other cities. Sitting on the dock baking in the sun, eating Chili Cheese Fritos, peach rings half melted by the heat, and drinking Dr Pepper, or Sprite for Mel.

We were wild. We were free. We were carefree.

If our parents were worried, we did not know it. They knew everyone. And everyone looked out for us. Our parents trusted us. They trusted our community.

If we made a new friend, our parents had to meet their parents and that kid before we could hang out. No matter how old we were.

As long as we were home at sundown for supper, we were free, within reason, to roam.

We did not carry cell phones. Our parents did not track our every move. We told them where we would be and what we were doing. When Dad was ready for us to come home, he whistled. We could hear it from blocks away. My brother and I would yell “COMING” and pedal as fast as we could to get there.

We knew the rules. We knew the boundaries. We knew right from wrong. And we knew there were consequences.

Somewhere along the way, we forgot what built us.

The world our children are growing up in is completely different from the one I knew. And I am sad for them.

We live in an automatic world now. One driven by smartphones, social media, binge watching, and overscheduling.

We no longer wait our turn. We do not tolerate boredom. We outsource what we once did ourselves. We expect everything now.

Instant gratification has become normal. If we cannot have it immediately, we feel anxious, irritated, stressed.

Then we yell at our kids for being impatient and unable to sit still.

Where do you think they learned it?

If we cannot sit quietly for one minute without picking up our phones because we are uncomfortable in stillness, how will our children ever learn to be content?

As a kid, I lived a life of freedom.

Did I make mistakes and get hurt? Yes.

That is what is supposed to happen.

I have a vivid memory of being five years old, riding my bike barefoot at a massive Catholic church in Lake Charles. Our house backed up to it. Acres of space. Buildings everywhere.

I decided to try a trick.

It did not go well.

I took a nose dive into concrete. Blood and skin everywhere. Tears. No one around. No one coming.

I limped home. Jumped the chain link fence. Found my mom.

Did my parents stop me from riding alone after that? No.
Did they tighten the leash? No.
Did I stop trying? No.

That experience did not damage me. It strengthened me.

It made me more responsible. Tougher. More aware. Grittier.

And that is what is missing.

Not because kids are incapable. But because we have removed every opportunity for them to build it.

We supervise everything. Solve every problem. Intervene in every disagreement. Clear obstacles before they even know they exist.

They are rarely unsupervised. Rarely allowed to struggle. Rarely required to take ownership of their space or responsibilities.

Anytime there is a problem, it is handled for them.

We call it love.

But sometimes it is fear.

And fear does not raise strong adults.

Failing is part of life. Learning to deal with failure is critical to survival.

The freedom I had is the same freedom we are trying to give our kids.

We let them play in the street. Hunt rides his bike alone in the neighborhood. If he wants to see a friend, he rides over and knocks on the door. I do not call for him.

He stays home alone for short periods of time.

They have real chores. Scooping the poop. Dishes. Laundry. Setting and clearing the table. Feeding the dog. Making their beds. Packing their lunches. Unloading groceries.

If it is time to leave and they are not ready, that is on them. We do not run back for forgotten homework or water bottles. They deal with the consequences.

If they choose a hobby, they commit. No half effort. They practice. They improve. They finish what they start.

School is the same.

All of these small decisions build independence, self-reliance, and responsibility.

Yes, it is hard to watch your child struggle. Yes, it hurts to see them disappointed. But life will not spare them.

You thought the terrible twos were exhausting. Just wait for the terrible twenty twos if they have never had to navigate difficulty on their own.

We are not raising children to remain comfortable. We are raising future adults.

Adults who will lose jobs. Face rejection. Hear criticism. Experience heartbreak. Carry responsibility.

We can prepare them now, while we are beside them.

Or we can protect them now and let the world teach them later.

We choose preparation.

We choose responsibility.

We choose grit.

Let them fall.
Let them forget.
Let them struggle.
Let them grow.

That is not harsh.

That is love.