Do you recall your own childhood? We wore our house keys like medals, strolled home from school solo, and let ourselves in while our parents were still at their jobs. We dashed across busy streets during rush hour to grab bubble gum cigarettes, funded by the change we scavenged from empty soda cans.
Our playgrounds were largely uncharted territories—construction sites, dirt piles, and creeks teeming with snakes and turtles that we adopted as pets. We climbed trees, got our clothes muddy, and explored every inch of our neighborhoods. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, we roamed barefoot, our feet blackened with grime and dirt lodged under our toenails. Riding skateboards, roller skates, and bikes set our boundaries; if we asked for a ride, our Baby Boomer parents would just chuckle, too engrossed in newspapers, soap operas, or sipping beer on the front porch with neighbors.
Our curfews were strict: come home only when it’s dark.
“It’s time to toughen up, grow up, and shake it off,” was the mantra we heard constantly. Coddling? That was a foreign concept.
Fast forward to today, we’re now parents, often later than we intended. As cranky and sleep-deprived 40-somethings, we find ourselves changing chlorine-free, biodegradable diapers while our little ones transform into teenagers who seem to grow up overnight. We convince ourselves that delaying parenthood was a smart choice; we “needed to establish careers” and “save money.” Yet, deep down, we know our careers are often more of a mirage than reality, and there’s no nest egg to speak of.
Our schedules revolve around our children’s activities—chess, robotics, baseball, ballet, and swimming lessons. While they may seem like little tornadoes, we believe these activities will make them well-rounded, social, and creative. They rarely leave our sight, treated as our extensions, with their success tied to our careful, intentional nurturing. We’ve used slings, backpacks, strollers, and even leashes to keep track of them, and now we monitor their whereabouts with GPS and various apps.
They often share our beds until they reach middle school age. While we started babysitting at age nine, our parenting style has flipped. We now hire well-educated, CPR-certified babysitters who not only watch our kids but also engage them in complex activities like origami, Shakespeare, and philosophy.
We remember the sting of being picked last in dodgeball, and we weren’t allowed to shed a tear. We learned to toughen up. Awards were reserved for the truly exceptional; the rest of us accepted our place without complaint.
These days, it seems every child gets a medal just for participating. Their rooms are adorned with certificates for “Best Effort” and “Most Enthusiastic.”
Our meals as kids were quick and convenient—Chef Boyardee, Stouffer’s pizzas, and TV dinners served while we watched news on a television with only a handful of channels. We didn’t dare express our dislike for what was put on our plates; we had to finish our meals, or we would hear about starving kids around the world. Leftovers were cold breakfast the next morning.
As parents, we labor in the kitchen to prepare organic and artisanal meals that cater to every dietary whim. Our kids can taste a morsel and then toss the rest into the compost without a second thought.
Our chores were tasks we completed because our parents demanded it. There were no chore charts decorated with glittery stickers; we did our work because it was expected. If we wanted to earn money, we delivered newspapers, mowed lawns, or worked at local shops.
Now, our children receive allowances for simply existing, often too “busy” for real jobs. They have countless options, and their childhoods resemble an all-you-can-eat buffet. They even have a say in their discipline—time-outs or whatever they prefer—because the concept of “no” seems lost to them.
We learned cursive, diagrammed sentences, and faced grades without any curves for the collective failures of a class. Our parents trusted teachers with our education, staying out of the school’s way.
Most of us were not deemed gifted, yet today, every child seems to be labeled as such.
In the future, our children might express grievances about our overprotectiveness, wishing we had given them more independence, more opportunities to fail, and less structure in their lives. They’ll probably crave a little less friendship and a little more discipline.
In the end, we might realize our kids are just as confused as we are. Despite all the parenting guides, blogs, and social media groups that bombard us with advice and guilt, the reality of raising a child hasn’t changed much over time. It’s still incredibly challenging, and like generations before us, we’re learning as we go—Kool-Aid and all.
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