Debating the outer limits
The
unexplored universe around the corner can be as mysterious and treacherous for
a kid as the outer reaches of the galaxy was for Captain Kirk. The difference
is that Kirk was trained to handle the unknown. For youngsters, venturing
further out into the world is part of growing up n and in our household, part
of an ongoing parental debate.
It started
about this time last year when I suggested our oldest son ride his bike to
school. I noticed other kids doing it—not a lot—but some. A
neighbor boy, whom we'll call "Bob," was a year younger than our son, and he
rode his bike to and from school every day.
My wife still nixed it because our son would have to cross two busy streets,
Bissonnet and Bellaire.
"But what about Bob?" I asked. She responded with a photon-torpedo, ending
round one: "Bob is not our son."
In fourth grade, I pedaled to and from school every day. My family lived in the
Memorial City Mall area, and I attended St. Cecilia Catholic School on Bunker
Hill. The campus is precisely one mile, as the crow flies, from the house we
lived in at Boheme Street and Plantation Drive — although as a kid, it
seemed half a world away.
I usually cut through a dead end street with a footbridge over a small bayou
that got me to Bunker Hill Elementary. From there, I picked up Taylorcrest
Street for a half-mile ride to Bunker Hill Road.
The
road was narrow. There were no sidewalks or bike paths, and it was flanked on
both sides by drainage ditches. Traffic on Taylorcrest was heavy, but slower
than on Bunker Hill where peopled hurried to I-10. Fortunately St. Cecilia's
was about a quarter of a mile up — then the safety of the campus was at
hand.
The total door-to-door mileage was 1.25.
Like other kids, I rode everywhere, including a model shop in Memorial City after
school or on Saturdays. Nor was it big deal to ride to another little model
shop in Lantern Lane Village—a small shopping strip on Memorial Drive. A
little further out was Interurban Pharmacy where Mom sent me to pick
prescriptions or anything else she needed. (And by the way, crossing Gessner
was no picnic.)
Sometimes I ran into a bully or two, got lost in an undeveloped wooded area, or
was chased by some grumpy old guy, who was probably the age I am now. The point
is that I learned to deal with those situations—meaning I either stood my
ground or turned and ran in the best tradition of "Monty Python and the Holy
Grail."
The argument is that things are different today. Are they, or are we made too
fearful by the constant onslaught of news stories? I remember reading somewhere
that kids are snatched more often by people they know than by strangers.
So when are we being appropriately cautious, and when are we being paranoid? My
son has baseball practice hardly two blocks from our home—he should be
walking or riding there, rather than me driving him or riding with him.
Not that I don't want to—but sometimes kids need to stretch their range a
bit. And at some point I think a parent needs to trust their kid and in what
they've taught him.
Copyright 2007 by David Falloure
