One of the great things about being a parent, is getting a phone call in the middle of the afternoon and your son is on the other end saying "you'll never guess where I'm calling from!"
He's fourteen now, so he's right, it's difficult to guess these things. I'm afraid to even try.
I have good reason too. When I was fourteen, I really never checked in with my parents. We lived in a pretty easy-going part of the bush in Northern Ontario, where the kids were all pretty independent. I spent most of the summer months out on my bike, or hiking the trails behind our house, or hanging around the beaver dam near our place, or flying down Barsky's Hill on a home-built go-kart. The winter months were spent outside building snow forts, skating on the beaver pond, throwing snowballs or just plotting another snow attack on a different part of town.
My parents were always glad to see me at the supper table, and rarely interested in what took place from the time they saw me go out the door in the morning, until I came back just in time to eat.
It's something that seems to out of step with the way things are now. We spend so much time and energy in an effort trying to control our children's environments. Perhaps we're making up for a perceived slackness in our own upbringing, or maybe we've become paranoid of the world thanks to how it's presented to us on the media ever day.
Let the kids out of your sight for one second, and they'll be doing something dangerous, going to some awful part of town, blowing their money on scary addictions, or hanging around psychotic freaks! It must be true because Brian Williams, Peter Mansbridge and the entire CNN crew tell me it's so.
So with great trepidation I answer "uhh, I can't guess...where are you?" And my son proudly announces that he and his buds are on Wolfe Island. Wolfe Island? A place where most people take their families and grandparents to see the pastoral beauty of a farming community that's only accessible by a ferry. A place where the craziest thing you can do on a hot summers day is buy a decadent butter tart at the Wolfe Island Bakery.
This is the same kid who asked me a few days prior to this adventure "hey, guess what I just bought!" To which I had to answer "uhh, I can't guess...whadja get?" "A violin!" He had a hundred bucks just burning a hole in his pockets, so he bought a...a...VIOLIN?!??!!?
If we start giving this kid too much freedom, he may end up sneaking away to the library!
You see, it's not our children who we're tyring to protect. At least not entirely. We're doing everything we can to keep them from doing the bad stuff we did.
No wonder they're confident that they'll do a better job when it's their turn to take over the world.
He's fourteen now, so he's right, it's difficult to guess these things. I'm afraid to even try.
I have good reason too. When I was fourteen, I really never checked in with my parents. We lived in a pretty easy-going part of the bush in Northern Ontario, where the kids were all pretty independent. I spent most of the summer months out on my bike, or hiking the trails behind our house, or hanging around the beaver dam near our place, or flying down Barsky's Hill on a home-built go-kart. The winter months were spent outside building snow forts, skating on the beaver pond, throwing snowballs or just plotting another snow attack on a different part of town.
My parents were always glad to see me at the supper table, and rarely interested in what took place from the time they saw me go out the door in the morning, until I came back just in time to eat.
It's something that seems to out of step with the way things are now. We spend so much time and energy in an effort trying to control our children's environments. Perhaps we're making up for a perceived slackness in our own upbringing, or maybe we've become paranoid of the world thanks to how it's presented to us on the media ever day.
Let the kids out of your sight for one second, and they'll be doing something dangerous, going to some awful part of town, blowing their money on scary addictions, or hanging around psychotic freaks! It must be true because Brian Williams, Peter Mansbridge and the entire CNN crew tell me it's so.
So with great trepidation I answer "uhh, I can't guess...where are you?" And my son proudly announces that he and his buds are on Wolfe Island. Wolfe Island? A place where most people take their families and grandparents to see the pastoral beauty of a farming community that's only accessible by a ferry. A place where the craziest thing you can do on a hot summers day is buy a decadent butter tart at the Wolfe Island Bakery.
This is the same kid who asked me a few days prior to this adventure "hey, guess what I just bought!" To which I had to answer "uhh, I can't guess...whadja get?" "A violin!" He had a hundred bucks just burning a hole in his pockets, so he bought a...a...VIOLIN?!??!!?
If we start giving this kid too much freedom, he may end up sneaking away to the library!
You see, it's not our children who we're tyring to protect. At least not entirely. We're doing everything we can to keep them from doing the bad stuff we did.
No wonder they're confident that they'll do a better job when it's their turn to take over the world.
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