Another social commentary thread

Started by Dissident, Jun 18 06 11:33

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Dissident

 I've got to admit that I've got an attachment to this guy's columns.  When he gets it, he gets it.

My feelings about this?  The only trouble I got into as an unmonitored kid was getting the crap beaten out of me by neighbourhood thugs who would ambush me in the woods.  Once some creepy guy tried to get my gawky 9-year-old self to accept a ride only three blocks from my house.  Call me naive, but it wasn't until I was in college that I figured that one out.  Meanwhile, I had friends from extremely strict households who were getting knocked up or caught driving drunk (or killed in drunken accidents, in a few cases) in high school because they would sneak out and not know how to put the brakes on their rebellious behaviour . . .



Walt Disney Stalks Your Child
Now even kids have GPS cell phones. So much for running away from home  
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Friday, June 16, 2006

It was time to do something drastic.

It was summer. It was a weekend. It was a mild suburban Spokane middle-class upbringing and I was perfectly fed up with it all, but especially with always being told what to do: Clean your room, eat your asparagus, sweep the driveway, unbury the dog, quit touching yourself there, stop dealing heroin and Pop Rocks in the school yard and mowing lawns in the shape of a skull and crossbones. You know, typical.

I was about 8. Maybe 9. Our painfully idyllic young lifestyles bearing heavily upon us, my friend Paul and I decided to make a run for it. To split that crazy nightmare suburbia scene and get the hell out, once and for all. Enough of the endless chaos of raking leaves and the anxiety around the eating of peas. Enough, you know, working for the Man. Let's do it. Let's run away from home.

We had our bikes. We had our backpacks. We had some extra socks and underwear and about $4 between us and it was an aforementioned warm summer's day as we snuck away without anyone noticing, and we rode and rode for what seemed forever, on and on and on, until we ended up at this fabulously cool construction site radiating all manner of scrap wood and unfinished buildings and lots of glorious nooks and crannies for us to build our ideal hideaway fort.

It was perfect. We were, I believe, less than one mile from home. But it might as well have been the moon because no one knew where we were. The devil had yet to invent cell phones or GPS or implantable RFID chips and hence it was still possible to get away and, for all intents and purposes, vanish from the face of the Earth. Ah, the glory of it.

We leaned some planks up against a tree. We found a beat-up tarp for a doorway. We collected nails and hunks of scrap wood (for ammo) and dug in. There was a small market right nearby (excellent strategic planning on our part -- access to cheap candy was, like, right there) and we stocked up on supplies: one box of Honeycomb, four generic grape sodas, a large bag of potato chips. We had 75 cents left over for, you know, emergencies.

I have no idea how we thought we were going to survive. I have no idea how long we thought we would last. I remember that scarythilling rush of newfound independence, like I was leaving home forever and I was finally free of all rules and boundaries. I remember the taste of dry Honeycomb and the smell of the sawdust and imagining everyone's horrified, distraught expressions when they found I was gone forever. Let this be a lesson to them all! We laughed and strategized and got nicely sugared up and felt all rebellious and disobedient.

Until it started to get cold. And we started to get hungry again. And our flashlight didn't work. And the construction site quickly turned from friendly welcoming wonderland into dusky creepy shadowland. And so we did what every normal preteen runaway does in this situation: We quickly rode home. In time for dinner.

I now guesstimate that our radical rebellion lasted roughly six hours. During this time, I do believe my parents had no idea where I was. Not only that, but when I returned, they didn't even realize I had gone. I remember this being rather humiliating, because if there's one thing worse than failing in your defiance of authority, it's having authority smile warmly when you walk back in the door and offer you a bowl of hot macaroni and cheese with little bits of cut-up hot dogs in it. Bastards!

Alas, it is but a faint memory. And it's also a scenario that might well be disappearing from the face of the culture. No more tiny but fiercely independent romps into the unknown for modern postmillennial kids. No more untethered visits to where the wild things are.

And why? Because technology has stomped on in and has taken childhood by the throat and is right now handing a cell phone to every child over 5 years old, telling them it's absolutely mandatory that they be able to call Mom or Dad or the police at a moment's notice because, oh my God, have you seen the news? Child molesters are everywhere. Sexual predators are lurking behind every MySpace page. Leave the neighborhood without telling anyone? Ride your bike to mysterious parts unknown? What are you, insane?

Indeed, there's a whole slew of new phones and services aimed at the under-10 set (see the LG Migo, the Firefly, etc.), cute little bug-like things designed with a handful of preset buttons that instantly dial Mom/Dad or the police or the fire department or perhaps (if you live in Colorado Springs) a disapproving and suspicious God.

But this isn't the sad part. It's this: The big telecoms are now offering a new service to parents wherein, for an extra monthly fee, you can log in to your PC and actually track your child's movements based on the location of his/her kiddie phone. True. And one of the biggest new providers of such happy creepy family surveillance? Disney. Shudder.

But it doesn't stop there. Not only can you check your kids' whereabouts, but for an extra fee, you can have the system alert you whenever your kid goes beyond preset boundaries. That's right, you can be sitting there innocently surfing hard-core German fetish porn when -- beep-beep-beep -- an alarm goes off letting you know little Dakota has crossed the half-mile radius of the house and might be ... I don't know what. Smoking. Playing with matches. Joining the Taliban.

Oh, I know. It's a perfectly reasonable concept. It's every mildly paranoid parent's wet dream. Hell, kids today are crazy, right? They could just as easily wander over to the wrong side of the tracks as buy a plane ticket to Vegas to meet some guy they met on MySpace. Hence, such phones are admittedly a bit useful.

But it still must be said: Much of the cosmic point of getting lost in the mall or riding your Schwinn too far into another mysterious neighborhood is not being able to call your mom at the slightest whiff of the perilous unknown. This is, after all, how you begin to learn to figure the world out for yourself. This is how you make the soul snap to attention. Fear awakens the mind. The survival instinct learns to French-kiss the Mystery.

Of course, you might argue that it's still possible for even halfway intelligent, rebellious kids to disobey, to break the rules and split their horrible cushy suburban Ritalin lives and explore the construction sites of their own independent souls. And I'm sure many of them are already catching on.

You want to run away from home? You want to really feel the world, kiddo, even if it's just a few blocks away? You want to experience true danger and mutiny and independence, a feeling that even adults can no longer handle without freaking out and looking terrified? That's easy. Just leave the damn phone at home, silly.

   
fenec rawks!

Lise

I've heard about these cellphones that can track your kids down. I'm on the fence with this one. I mean, it's a great concept - you're able to track down your teen movements considering they're not always there to call you back and say they're ok. At the same time there's so much potential for abuse. Who wants their parents to breathe down on your neck all the time?
Always end the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell the name will carry.
Bill Cosby.

Dissident

 My brother has two girls in their early teens, and I'll bet my sister-in-law has microchips planted in them by now.  Not being the parent of a teen, I can't really comment on what it's like.

I just think that this kind of overprotectiveness leads to tremendous emotional immaturity.  I really saw it when I moved to Vancouver and had to work around a lot of kids just out of high school.  American kids in general are expected to be a lot more independent (or at least most of the ones I know are), and are less sheltered than the Canadian kids I met—and in general they demonstrate more mature behaviour as well.  I think a lot of it comes from having the chance to experience some consequences of their actions before they're set loose on the world where the stakes are higher.

It's like in the workplace.  If you're given responsibility and the trust to carry out your duties without a lot of supervision, you do a better job, and you're motivated to more honest, ethical behaviour.  Treat someone like they can't be trusted and they will become untrustworthy.
   
fenec rawks!

Some Chick

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

  On the one hand, I also had my experience at attempting to run away.  I was 4 and I was damned mad at my mom.  Hell if I can remember why, but I started to help myself to cans of fruit etc. and pack them into a pillow case.  My mom came out and asked me if I wanted her to make me a sandwich.  Then she asked if there were any other things I thought I might need.

  I started thinking about where I would go, and how much I actually loved my mom and dad, and over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the plan to run away faded.

  I have a daughter now.  I live with the terror of someone fooling her into a sense of trust and getting her into a dangerous position.

  It can be debilitating if you allowed yourself to think on it too much.

  As a single parent, I didn't have to argue a lot with her father on the issues of discipline.  I did what I felt was right.  My beliefs were based on the ridiculous things I used to be severely punished for as a kid.  So I scrapped those.  Kids are kids and some things are not worth a fight.

  My motto was "Choose your battles" and also (from some woman on TV) "If it's not morally wrong or posing an immediate danger to the child or those around them it's not worth a huge fight"... Or something along those lines.  I taught her to think, decide, and reap the benefits or the consequences of her decisions.  From the time she was old enough to speak, she's been making her own decisions, falling down when she ran too fast...  Kid stuff..

  Would I implant a chip in her?

  Probably.  I would probably plant one in me too.  Because no matter how good you are at letting go, there's still the overwhelming desire to make sure that you have done EVERYTHING you can to keep them the safest they can be.

Lise

Holly molly, SC - you were 4 when you thought about running away??? Oh my. I hope to God, my daughter doesn't think that way when she's that age. Come to think of it, I hope she NEVER has to think about running away.

  As a parent, you want to do what's best for your kids... but I don't know if infringing on their rights is the way to go. You want them to be a well balanced person when they grow up but at the same time, you have to be the parent and enforce rules. I just don't know. How do our parents do it? I'll never know... it's so hard being a parent at times.
Always end the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell the name will carry.
Bill Cosby.

Some Chick

My mom and I were talking about that last weekend.  Talking about my daughter and how proud we both are of her.  My mom said "We never ever stop worrying.  I keep thinking that one day it will stop, but it never does."

  Maybe that's why originally I planned on no kids.  It's terrifying to know you are going to have that constant low level fear for the rest of your life.

Lise

Some Chick wrote:
My mom and I were talking about that last weekend.  Talking about my daughter and how proud we both are of her.  My mom said "We never ever stop worrying.  I keep thinking that one day it will stop, but it never does."



Maybe that's why originally I planned on no kids.  It's terrifying to know you are going to have that constant low level fear for the rest of your life.

    You are SO right there, Ms. SC. I guess if I had that fear and anxiety, I would never agree to have kids. Then again, looking at my girl, watching her grow and becoming her own woman.... it's just all too priceless.

  I guess only time will tell when my daughter hits her teens. Hopefully by then, we would have taught her enough to wise up and learn how to be responsible.

  (AND NO DV FOR HER. )
 
Always end the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell the name will carry.
Bill Cosby.

Some Chick

My daughter is in the most dangerous time of her life.  Grad.

  She graduated a year early, maintained a position on the honour roll, and was voted class valedictorian.

  Now, every single night I freak hoping she's not going to do something stupid.  If there was a way I could lock her up for a couple of years, and not have her get mad at me... I would consider it!!!

Adam_Fulford

Dissident wrote:
I've got to admit that I've got an attachment to this guy's columns.  When he gets it, he gets it.

My feelings about this?  The only trouble I got into as an unmonitored kid was getting the crap beaten out of me by neighbourhood thugs who would ambush me in the woods.  Once some creepy guy tried to get my gawky 9-year-old self to accept a ride only three blocks from my house.  Call me naive, but it wasn't until I was in college that I figured that one out.  Meanwhile, I had friends from extremely strict households who were getting knocked up or caught driving drunk (or killed in drunken accidents, in a few cases) in high school because they would sneak out and not know how to put the brakes on their rebellious behaviour . .
.

 

 My childhood family was a regular Lord of the Flies scenario, my parents clued out, involved in other things.  I was the youngest of several brothers.  My oldest brother had a fondness for weapons. Crossbows (made in the school woodshop) and whips adorned the walls.  When he wasn't trying out his latest weapons on us or the neighbor's dog, he practiced wrestling moves he'd seen on TV. Needless to say, my friends were terrified of him.  Once I arrived home to find one of my friends tied to a post, cowering as my brother yielded a whip.  In revenge I used his toothbrush to clean my shoe, and took a polaroid of it, then thoroughly rinsed his toothbrush.  That night, as he was brushing his teeth, I showed him the polaroid.  I had rope tied across the hallway, so when he ran after me he tripped, allowing m to repeatedly kick him in the head.

 In spring, when I was five, I'd stand alone by the river watching huge chunks of ice float by. Sometimes I'd hop on one and go for a ride, or even occasionally invite friends along.

 I used to like hanging out at a buddy's home.  His house was full of gadgets.  Since his dad was in jail and ma was often out bartending at the strip club, we had full reign of the place.  Loved tinkering on the hot bikes in the hidden room beneath the garage.

 Ah, childhood....


   

Dissident

   Geez, dude, that sounds crazy.  Please tell me it's not your "writer's imagination" that conjured up that scenario . . .

But if there's even a grain of truth to your story, one of the things I find in common with your narrative is the "clued-out" parents too busy with their own careers to take notice of what's going on with their kids.  Your "Lord of the Flies" comparison could have been lifted verbatim from the characterisation my father made of my neighbourhood and school situation when I was a kid.  Unfortunately, it took the school authorities telling my folks that I was psychotic and should be sent to the state mental hospital before they realised that the surroundings themselves were sick (obviously, a neutral psychologist gave me a "clean bill of mental health").  Oh, and the school also told them I was borderline retarded—so my parents ordered tests returned an IQ of 175 and an 11th-grade reading level at the age of 10.  I had been complaining to my folks about the situation for years, but they took no notice.  

I wonder if this electronic monitoring craze just gives parents who can't (or don't want to) be involved in their kids' lives another convenient crutch instead of actually taking notice and taking seriously the fact that they're responsible for another human being's life.  Certainly a story like that recounted in the OP indicates how kids need to have some free rein to discover how crazy and unrealistic some of their impulses are, while they're still young enough to realise this, and without getting into irrevocable actions that could ruin their lives.

I had a friend in junior high who lived in such an abusive household that she actually did successfully run away after a number of attempts.  When she finally made her existence known to her family and later to me years later (we had given her up for dead), she had some very sobering stories to tell about her journey at the age of 14 from the Pacific Northwest to Eastern Ontario, where she finally settled.  The prospect of being drugged and gang-raped, going days without food and spending wet, frozen nights sleeping on the street certainly deterred me from ever following a similar path.  

     
fenec rawks!