ETCETERA
NIGHTCAP
Let Kids Have Fun
By Harry Kirsbaum
illy Ross. Dick Sharpe. Tom Dut-
kowski. Walter Peake. These are
the names of my past.
In the early 19605, an eight-square-
block area on the north side of
Flint was my entire world. I spent
kindergarten through third grade in
one-room schoolhouses around the
corner of my house, I was in the first
fifth-grade class at the brand new Jo-
seph A. Anderson elementary school
three blocks away, and I roamed the
neighborhood on my bicycle until
the sun went down.
We all had refrigerator privileges
at my friends' houses so we could
maintain our energy. We did as
we pleased, played touch football,
whiffle ball, and ran around the
neighborhood playing war with toy
guns and canteens. There were no
parents around.
So I read with great mystification
the story of Alexander and Danielle
Meitiv of Silver Springs, Md., who
found themselves in a great deal of
trouble when they let their 10-year-old
son and 6-year-old daughter play on a
park bench by themselves across the
street from their house last Decem-
ber. Someone called the police. Child
Protective Services was called in and
a child neglect investigation began,
which resulted in an unsubstantiated
claim. Then, in mid-April, the kids were
walking alone together when some-
one else called the police on them.
Apparently, the Meitivs are con-
sidered part of a movement called
free-range parenting, which is the
antithesis of helicopter parenting,
and might somehow be linked to the
Whole Foods poultry department.
In my old neighborhood, when
skateboards first came out with
wheels made of a very hard substance
similar to stone, Walter Peake broke
his arm when his skateboard wheel
met a rock on the pavement. We got
his mother, who put him in the car and
took him to the hospital. She wasn't
there, hovering. No ambulance was
necessary. Child Protective Services
wasn't called to question his mother's
whereabouts, and no personal injury
lawyer was called to find someone or
something to sue. It
was free-range par-
enting at its finest.
My brother and I
would walk to the
Della Theater every Saturday, about a
mile away, to catch the 10-cent mon-
ster movie matinees, just like every
other kid in the crowd.
I know things are different these
days. My old neighborhood is now
considered dangerous. Those one-
room schoolhouses have been con-
verted into a church, and Anderson
Elementary is now closed and up for
sale, along with every other school I
attended in Flint.
But the neighborhood in Silver
Springs seems to be similar to a quaint
Ann Arbor neighborhood, with older
brick homes and parks.
The world itself is scarier to the par-
ents, who watch television shows about
catching serial killers, living through
zombie apocalypses and Dancing With
the Stars, so why would you let little
Bobby play in the driveway by himself?
Why let little Bobby play at all?
Wouldn't it be better to give him a
fun activity instead? Something that
would look good on his college ap-
plication later so he could get a degree
and end up living in his parent's base-
ment saddled with college loan debt
and unable to find work?
On a warm fall day last year, we
were walking our pug in the neigh-
borhood.There was a group of kids
running around. One boy wore a claw
hand from the Wolverine movie and
they were playing some type of chas-
ing/adventure game that only they
could understand. The fact is they
were just playing, and none of their
parents were around.
For one brief moment, I was back
in the neighborhood with Billy, Dick,
Tom and Walter in a cast; canteen on
my hip, toy rifle at the ready. It was
joyful.
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