Free Range Kids, Revisited

As I was searching for maps, I came across this article:

Manhood for Amateurs: The Wilderness of Childhood - The New York Review of Books

It's a beautifully written article that so eloquently sums up the conundrum we parents find ourselves in these days. I spent some of my childhood in Florida, where I played outside, totally and surprisingly unsupervised, from the moment school let out until I reluctantly came in for supper. We played tag, hide and seek; we picked up trash to earn 25 cents for a Frosty root beer. When I finally got a bike, I spent hours with my friends playing elaborate versions of cops and robbers. It was a lovely time, probably the best time of my childhood.

When I send my daughter outside, I am usually with her. We appear to be the only people in our neighborhood who actually spend time outside. We don't often hear the noise of kids playing and there is no great stampede when the ice cream truck rolls through. She barely knows the little boy her age across the street.

I often dream of letting DD play in the park while I stroll through the (very) nearby library, but I wouldn't do it today and probably wouldn't do it five years from now. It feels too risky; I don't believe she would be safe.

I keep saying that I want to build a community for myself and my family, but it's a community of my choosing. I'm not releasing my daughter into the wild to fend for herself, and I've got a niggling suspicion that this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. Instead, I find myself unnecessarily removing necessary stones from her path.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not going to send her down to the corner store for a quart of milk anytime soon. She's only five, for goodness sake. But I am going to pay attention to that mommy voice, the one that says "Be careful." "Don't do that." "I don't think that's such a good idea." "Is that safe?" Instead, I'm going to squeeze my eyes shut and hang on for the ride of my life.