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“One night, my 3-year-old asked me if she could sleep in my bed. I told her no. She said, “That’s not fair! Why does Daddy get to sleep in your bed?” READ MORE
Early Years (2-6)
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Only Peter Pan remains young “All children, except one, grow up.” So begins J.M. Barrie’s classic tale of childhood, “Peter Pan.” It’s popular in our house this year. The wondrous chapters have seen us through over a month of bedtime readings. The classic story’s first sentence introduces conflict and character and a theme – the inevitable loss of childhood – and that exceptional child hero Peter Pan’s resistance to it. It’s often forgotten that Peter retreats to Neverland and a perpetual, if idealized, childhood. Indeed, overhearing his parents’ plans for his future as a grownup, the specter of his stolen childhood and the vision of looming adulthood, leaves Peter no choice but to flee. And so he does: “Second to the right and straight on till morning.” Lately, I find myself cheering on Peter Pan and his band of Lost Boys, though I know that as a parent my sympathies might be with Wendy’s bereft parents, Mr. and Mrs. Darling. But, as a former child and a self-conscious parent, I see young Pan’s argument, in 2006, probably more pointed than ever: Children need childhood, even as the adult world seems determined to diminish it. You’ve heard this before: They grow up so fast. Cluck-cluck-cluck. Today’s world makes sophisticates of them, denies them their innocence, robs them of their wonder, creates an irresistible virtual-adulthood in just their sizes. My husband and partner in parenting reminds me that we are, as parents, wired to worry. He’s right. Our parents worried too. Their parents (our grandparents) worried. It’s a tradition, you might say, of our species, but also a socio-biological defense mechanism. And, beyond this hardwired imperative of fretting over the possibility of attack by saber-toothed cats or the safety of crossing at corners, it seems also to be what we do as we watch ourselves grow into our own version of adults. We look at what’s offered as youth culture and popular commercial culture and shake our heads (like old mom and dad) at the obvious contradiction. Today, I admit to being a fairly smug mother of my 4-year-old. I like to consider the fleshy sea of tattoos and body piercings in the mall and reassure myself that that particular youth trend will be over by the time my little guy grows old enough to hold still and endure needles for the sake of conformity, the mass expression of a selective understanding of the romantic gangster rebel or indigenous tradition. Surely by the time he is a teenager, young men will once again wear belts? Meanwhile, it’s unlikely that, dressing him for preschool I’ll spot a hidden tattoo creeping out of his sleeve or note the flash of a metal stud in his tongue. Or is it? The stick-on temporary tattoo, distributed along with candy and fluorescent birthday cake, is there for a reason as is the candy-flavored lipstick. But this is not necessarily about tattoos or chi-chi mama clothing worn by little girls. Rather, it’s about possibilities and control and how we, as parents, as adults, establish what is important, what is possible. Yes, it’s about values – teaching our children about what matters. Our children look forward to the day when they can choose for themselves – we all did, didn’t we? From the first simple choices - catsup or mustard, corn or flour tortillas, Buzz Lightyear or Woody? - to more significant choices that truly influence their experiences. Our challenge is to create a world where our children have bigger, better choices and to empower our children to choose wisely. I would argue that such a world already exists and always has, though sometimes it’s difficult to discern it amid the noise and flash and complaints and fear. The trees are there, yes they are, the forest too. Just look. A friend, mother to two teenagers, warns me that, when my son is grown, I will simply have another version of today to deal with. She shudders. Enjoy him now while you can, she suggests. Maybe so. This is where I crack wise and threaten to go and live in a Mexican fishing village when he hits those teenage years. But running away, to Neverland or rural Mexico, is no solution. In Barrie’s novel, Wendy, after all, returns home with her brothers and the Lost Boys, grows up and becomes a mother herself, one who watches and waits for her friend Peter to return. And he does, still clad his outfit of leaves, once charming to young Wendy, perhaps worrisome now that she is older, wiser, less likely to fly out her bedroom window with a strange boy who promises her adventures. But when her daughter Jane asks permission, Wendy (a thoughtful parent) lets her fly away with Peter - weeping, no doubt, as her own mother had - but knowing that part of parenting is recognizing the danger of saying “never” to Neverland and confronting the uncomfortable fact that Jane, like all children, wants to learn to fly too. Maybe Wendy’s comfort is remembering that she, too, once chose to fly away. She also chose to return. Lisa Alvarez is a regular contributor. |
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