Yesterday I took my youngest to enrol him at his new school; the one his brother attends at the moment. My youngest knows that his brother walks there and back on his own (aged 10). It's roughly a 5-minute walk, there are no busy roads to cross, and is about as safe as it gets. He thus asked me if he could walk to school by himself too.
This, naturally, threw me into a quandary. It just so happened that The Telegraph this week reported the results of a study into how much freedom modern children have, and how little they are able to roam about.
When I was young, I lived down a cul de sac in a road of new houses for young families, next to the secondary school, a farm, and a wood. I had friends to play with, farm fields to build dens in, and a wood to get scared in. We went out and came back for meals. We didn't roam far in fact - no more than a few hundred yards from the house, but we had such diverse environments to play in, it didn't matter.
When we moved up the road, I remember walking the couple of miles or so into the centre of the town, or taking the bus having walked down the road, into the main commercial centre. I went into London on the tube for the first time alone, from the end of the District Line, round about the age of 15.
Funnily enough, I now live down a similar road - a cul de sac with new houses for young families. It's next to a wood, but not a scary dark one; a pine wood which is cleared of fire-risk bushes every year making it pretty tame really.
My boys walk down the road into the village which takes 5 minutes and can roam about pretty freely as long as they are back for meals. However, my youngest, alone, is not allowed to go beyond the end of the road. Would I let him walk to school unaccompanied? I'm sure he could do it. He's a sensible boy, knows the way and wants to do it. I'm not so sure about the school allowing him to appear without a parent, or go home unaccompanied however. They are keen to know that the child is in safe hands as s/he leaves the school and is not being carried off by the wrong person. This is understandable in a litigious age.
I'll have to wait and see next September concerning my youngest's bid for freedom. We live in a safe place, intentionally, so that they can run about and have a similar environment to the one I had. Still, we live in a different age, and schools have rules and regulations which may well oblige me to drop him off at school on my way to work and pick him up on my way home.
Thank goodness my eldest will take the school bus to Collège.
Showing posts with label Childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Childhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Maniac in Espadrilles
Despite the ups and downs of yesterday, we did manage to get to Palavas after lunch à deux. I was in search of espadrilles and decided that the beach was as good a place as any to find some. How wrong I was.
Palavas was, however, packed. There was a classic car show going on which was generating a lot of interest with people out after Easter lunch on a nice day. We managed to park the car - a feat in itself - and joined the throngs milling up and down the canal-side road to the beach. With not an espadrille in sight, we walked up the other main road and came across a shoe shop with some at 25€ each. We left those to the tourist pigeons with more money than sense and gave up the search.
Instead we headed for the car show, a lot of which was taking place outside in the carpark for free. First we came to the American classic car section with Cadillacs, Pontiacs, a Bonneville, Chevrolets, Fords and Buicks. They had been lovingly looked after and were a spectacular sight, especially the cabriolets. Just looking at them images of road trips would spring up and you could see yourself driving off into the sunset on a dusty Texan road towards cactus country. Some of the owners were dressed to go with their cars, with varying degrees of success...
As we walked around, a country and western band belted out suitable music to help us really appreciate the Americana, and a tacos stand stood by to help us get the American look (big).
From there we moved onto the army vehicles and I immediately wished the boys had been there as kids were climbing all over the tanks and armoured trucks firing the empty guns and having a great time. I'm afraid I didn't pay enough attention to the signs to know what sort of vehicles they were except that they seemed to be French.
Next up were the classic cars. When you're young, you consider classic cars as museum pieces. When you get older, they represent periods of your youth, and younger days.
There were some British cars such as the Triumph Herald, an MGB, a Ford Cortina from 1965, an Escort from the seventies, and a Mini. A terrific Mini Cooper 1300 customed into a beach buggy. Oh, I fell in love with it, how could you not? Green and yellow, open to the skies, a mean little engine, and total charm.
It was for sale. I asked how much. How much would you think? A couple of thousand euros? A guy who was not its owner told us he believed the car was going for ten thousand euros! That's more than I paid for my Peugeot 406 Estate. With a regretful tear, I moved on, came back to take some photos, a last wistful look, restrained myself from dashing to the Presse to buy loto tickets... and said good-bye.
In the classic French car line-up there were Renault 4s, Citroen DS, Alpine Renaults, Deudeuches, and Peugeots. There were also some beautiful old Mercedes 190SL, Spiders, Simcas, and Volkswagons. When I was very young, we used to have a sticker on the car of the front of some car by a mountain or a tunnel (I forget which), and I had a thing about knowing what the backs of cars looked like once I'd seen the front. The picture was of a very old car though, and there were no more on the roads, so I searched in vain for years (yes, I'm a bit weird like that). Finally, yesterday, I saw the front of the car from the sticker. It was starting to drive off. Memories of my quest flooded into my head. I had to see what the back looked like! This may be my last chance!
I edged round a group of people who were standing inconveniently blocking my view, and got a good look at the boot, lights, bumper, back windscreen and wheels. It was an old Simca with vertical back lights in a line, a big boot that bent over the end, and a heavy line. You can't imagine the nostalgia I felt, the feeling taking me right back to my pre-teen years.
I said nothing - well, I didn't want to come across as some sort of lunatic on the look-out for the shape of the backs of cars. It doesn't go with being a modern, go-getting paper-pusher mother of two boys type, does it?
We finished our tour, my mind completely transported to various parts of the globe, the past, and wishful thinking. I do like cars. Always have!
Palavas was, however, packed. There was a classic car show going on which was generating a lot of interest with people out after Easter lunch on a nice day. We managed to park the car - a feat in itself - and joined the throngs milling up and down the canal-side road to the beach. With not an espadrille in sight, we walked up the other main road and came across a shoe shop with some at 25€ each. We left those to the tourist pigeons with more money than sense and gave up the search.
Instead we headed for the car show, a lot of which was taking place outside in the carpark for free. First we came to the American classic car section with Cadillacs, Pontiacs, a Bonneville, Chevrolets, Fords and Buicks. They had been lovingly looked after and were a spectacular sight, especially the cabriolets. Just looking at them images of road trips would spring up and you could see yourself driving off into the sunset on a dusty Texan road towards cactus country. Some of the owners were dressed to go with their cars, with varying degrees of success...
As we walked around, a country and western band belted out suitable music to help us really appreciate the Americana, and a tacos stand stood by to help us get the American look (big).
From there we moved onto the army vehicles and I immediately wished the boys had been there as kids were climbing all over the tanks and armoured trucks firing the empty guns and having a great time. I'm afraid I didn't pay enough attention to the signs to know what sort of vehicles they were except that they seemed to be French.
Next up were the classic cars. When you're young, you consider classic cars as museum pieces. When you get older, they represent periods of your youth, and younger days.
It was for sale. I asked how much. How much would you think? A couple of thousand euros? A guy who was not its owner told us he believed the car was going for ten thousand euros! That's more than I paid for my Peugeot 406 Estate. With a regretful tear, I moved on, came back to take some photos, a last wistful look, restrained myself from dashing to the Presse to buy loto tickets... and said good-bye.
In the classic French car line-up there were Renault 4s, Citroen DS, Alpine Renaults, Deudeuches, and Peugeots. There were also some beautiful old Mercedes 190SL, Spiders, Simcas, and Volkswagons. When I was very young, we used to have a sticker on the car of the front of some car by a mountain or a tunnel (I forget which), and I had a thing about knowing what the backs of cars looked like once I'd seen the front. The picture was of a very old car though, and there were no more on the roads, so I searched in vain for years (yes, I'm a bit weird like that). Finally, yesterday, I saw the front of the car from the sticker. It was starting to drive off. Memories of my quest flooded into my head. I had to see what the back looked like! This may be my last chance!
I edged round a group of people who were standing inconveniently blocking my view, and got a good look at the boot, lights, bumper, back windscreen and wheels. It was an old Simca with vertical back lights in a line, a big boot that bent over the end, and a heavy line. You can't imagine the nostalgia I felt, the feeling taking me right back to my pre-teen years.
I said nothing - well, I didn't want to come across as some sort of lunatic on the look-out for the shape of the backs of cars. It doesn't go with being a modern, go-getting paper-pusher mother of two boys type, does it?
We finished our tour, my mind completely transported to various parts of the globe, the past, and wishful thinking. I do like cars. Always have!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Girls just wanna have fun...
When I think back to my childhood compared to what is happening today I am relieved in many ways to have grown up in the sixties and seventies. I lived in a little cul-de-sac road of new houses full of young families who provided instant friends to play with, fight, compete against and interact with. Most of this went on outside in the road which was free of cars for much of the day as people only had one car per family and that was used by the head of the house to go to work.
We didn't have the fantastically creative opportunities of digital cameras, YouTube, or computers but we could play without fear of being abducted, run over or generally aggressed unless we were doing something wrong (like building hay fortresses in the farmer's field...).
I hated dolls, including Barbie, but loved my (all male) teddies, my scooter, pedal go-kart, brother's bike, and push-along donkey. I would have hated Bratz dolls too had they been sold then. When I saw them for the first time I couldn't believe how such brazenly sluttish dolls could be sold to little girls. I couldn't understand how parents could possibly accept that such plastic hookers be a suitable present for impressionable minds.
My opinion of these dolls has since been borne out by a report cited in the Telegraph today. A group of leading psychologist are warning parents about the corrupting influence of such dolls which project girls into inappropriate sexualisation. Clothes for little girls have also become overtly sexy and their magazines are a far cry from the ones I came across in my youth, including 'Jackie' which, I thought at the age of 15, was already very progressive!
It never ceases to amaze me how stupid so many parents are. Why do they allow their daughters to dress like hookers, play with doll hookers and read magazines that tell little girls how to dress and act like hookers? Don't they realise that this is damaging for young minds? Should we be surprised at the rise in underage sex when childhood is being so corrupted?
I am relieved to have boys who, whilst they may be noisy and boisterous, do not have a desire to look like pimps, play with pimp action figures or read magazines promoting pimping. Girls these days are definitely a different kettle of fish!
Talking of which, the ResidentAdo comes back to France tomorrow after spending two weeks with her mother. Modern day adolescence is also a phenomenon which horrifies me - jeans that barely cover pubes, shorts so short they should only be worn in the bedroom and an attitude of demanding independence without responsibility. Basically it boils down to 'I want to do as I like and I want you to run around enabling me to do as I like, and paying for it'. Teenagers have probably always had this attitude, but strong parenting protected them from themselves. The fear now is that parents have lost control, kids are out of control and God help the future. They just had to say 'no'.
My only consolation is that, as with all extreme situations, there will be a backlash, unless it's too late, in which case future adults will have no solid foundations on which to base their stronger stance and could deviate off into fanaticism. Cue those Creationists. They are standing in the wings ready to fly to the rescue of those lost souls who'll be searching for answers.
Streuth, I'm glad I'll be too old to care by then.
We didn't have the fantastically creative opportunities of digital cameras, YouTube, or computers but we could play without fear of being abducted, run over or generally aggressed unless we were doing something wrong (like building hay fortresses in the farmer's field...).
I hated dolls, including Barbie, but loved my (all male) teddies, my scooter, pedal go-kart, brother's bike, and push-along donkey. I would have hated Bratz dolls too had they been sold then. When I saw them for the first time I couldn't believe how such brazenly sluttish dolls could be sold to little girls. I couldn't understand how parents could possibly accept that such plastic hookers be a suitable present for impressionable minds.
My opinion of these dolls has since been borne out by a report cited in the Telegraph today. A group of leading psychologist are warning parents about the corrupting influence of such dolls which project girls into inappropriate sexualisation. Clothes for little girls have also become overtly sexy and their magazines are a far cry from the ones I came across in my youth, including 'Jackie' which, I thought at the age of 15, was already very progressive!
It never ceases to amaze me how stupid so many parents are. Why do they allow their daughters to dress like hookers, play with doll hookers and read magazines that tell little girls how to dress and act like hookers? Don't they realise that this is damaging for young minds? Should we be surprised at the rise in underage sex when childhood is being so corrupted?
I am relieved to have boys who, whilst they may be noisy and boisterous, do not have a desire to look like pimps, play with pimp action figures or read magazines promoting pimping. Girls these days are definitely a different kettle of fish!
Talking of which, the ResidentAdo comes back to France tomorrow after spending two weeks with her mother. Modern day adolescence is also a phenomenon which horrifies me - jeans that barely cover pubes, shorts so short they should only be worn in the bedroom and an attitude of demanding independence without responsibility. Basically it boils down to 'I want to do as I like and I want you to run around enabling me to do as I like, and paying for it'. Teenagers have probably always had this attitude, but strong parenting protected them from themselves. The fear now is that parents have lost control, kids are out of control and God help the future. They just had to say 'no'.
My only consolation is that, as with all extreme situations, there will be a backlash, unless it's too late, in which case future adults will have no solid foundations on which to base their stronger stance and could deviate off into fanaticism. Cue those Creationists. They are standing in the wings ready to fly to the rescue of those lost souls who'll be searching for answers.
Streuth, I'm glad I'll be too old to care by then.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Toxic Childhoods
There's been a lot of hoo har about childhood in the British press this week. Growing up in the UK, it appears, is fraught with toxic danger. Children are being pushed to grow up too quickly instead of enjoying their childhood. This rather contradicts the generally held belief that men never grow up, but we won't dwell on that one...
Here in thundery France, children are exposed to similar electronic sources of amusement. They are bombarded with adverts on the tele inciting them to get their parents to buy ever more toys and junk food, go to junk food restaurants, play on the internet, and so on. French kids smoke in huge numbers as it's such a 'cool' thing to do. Our RA tells me that only 7 of her class are non-smokers, out of 34. They are also discovering alcohol and have been subjected to drug-dealers outside school gates since they were in College.
Why is no one in France concerned with lost youth, then? Perhaps because family life is still highly considered; parents do things with their children, take them out into the countryside (especially round here where it's on the doorstep) on bikes, walks, to the beach, on picnics, sledging in winter, kiting, to gites, camping, to name but some.
I know the statistics show that obesity is rising here, people are eating less well, and divorce complicates things, BUT France considers itself a child-friendly country, and with so much on offer, if you don't engage your kids in activities it's because you don't want to. It's certainly not for lack of opportunity, unless you're impoverished and stuck in a ghastly high-rise ghetto, of course.
While there is a lot of mollycoddling ('Be careful... you'll fall/hurt yourself/get dirty/get wet/get cold, etc.'), there is also an attitude that children have a valid place in society and should not be 'inodor, incolore, invisible' until they reach a civilised age (around 21). You can thus take them to restaurants where, as they are expected to behave civilly, they usually do, and to hotels, ditto. They are not censured for being a bit lively, as long as they stay within recognised bounderies of social behaviour. Parents keep them in check and everyone enjoys their meal/stay.
Will France agonise over its youth at some point 5yrs hence? I hope not. I hope that sensible attitudes will prevail, and that children will continue to be appreciated. It's one of the most attractive aspects of living in France, and yet so intangible.
In a nutshell and in no particular order, toxic childhoods could be avoided by:
1. engaging with one's child - conversation, activities
2. controlling internet/tele/Gameboy etc. access
3. feeding them fresh food
4. showing you love them
5. letting them get bored.
It's hardly rocket science.
Here in thundery France, children are exposed to similar electronic sources of amusement. They are bombarded with adverts on the tele inciting them to get their parents to buy ever more toys and junk food, go to junk food restaurants, play on the internet, and so on. French kids smoke in huge numbers as it's such a 'cool' thing to do. Our RA tells me that only 7 of her class are non-smokers, out of 34. They are also discovering alcohol and have been subjected to drug-dealers outside school gates since they were in College.
Why is no one in France concerned with lost youth, then? Perhaps because family life is still highly considered; parents do things with their children, take them out into the countryside (especially round here where it's on the doorstep) on bikes, walks, to the beach, on picnics, sledging in winter, kiting, to gites, camping, to name but some.
I know the statistics show that obesity is rising here, people are eating less well, and divorce complicates things, BUT France considers itself a child-friendly country, and with so much on offer, if you don't engage your kids in activities it's because you don't want to. It's certainly not for lack of opportunity, unless you're impoverished and stuck in a ghastly high-rise ghetto, of course.
While there is a lot of mollycoddling ('Be careful... you'll fall/hurt yourself/get dirty/get wet/get cold, etc.'), there is also an attitude that children have a valid place in society and should not be 'inodor, incolore, invisible' until they reach a civilised age (around 21). You can thus take them to restaurants where, as they are expected to behave civilly, they usually do, and to hotels, ditto. They are not censured for being a bit lively, as long as they stay within recognised bounderies of social behaviour. Parents keep them in check and everyone enjoys their meal/stay.
Will France agonise over its youth at some point 5yrs hence? I hope not. I hope that sensible attitudes will prevail, and that children will continue to be appreciated. It's one of the most attractive aspects of living in France, and yet so intangible.
In a nutshell and in no particular order, toxic childhoods could be avoided by:
1. engaging with one's child - conversation, activities
2. controlling internet/tele/Gameboy etc. access
3. feeding them fresh food
4. showing you love them
5. letting them get bored.
It's hardly rocket science.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Memory Lane
I've got something new to worry about. My earliest memory. I don't seem to have one. Have can you not have an earliest memory? I've been wracking my brain and the best I can come up with is at nursery school, sitting on the Red Table with Andrew Stephens, being the boss (what a surprise!), listening to stories outside in the garden read by the lovely kindly teacher who seemed ancient but wasn't really.
Apart from that I remember my elder brother not being pleased that I was around and showing it... Don't worry though, I got my own back in female ways such as taking all the tyres off his Dinky cars because we had a little tyre rack and then they all got hoovered up. That was years later though.
I've heard some people can remember back as far as 2 years old. I'm just hoping that as I get older I can remember more. When I get to 80, if I ever do, I'm hoping I'll have a prestigious memory and remember what I used to get up to in fine detail so people will come and interview me to find out what it was like to grow up in a 1960s standard-type family. Maybe I'll sing them nursery rhymes in a quavery voice as by then no one will ever sing them to their kids and yet will be full of nostalgia for those who did.
I remember more clearly when I started school - my uniform, classroom where we all fought to use the wooden crane and I was very sensible. Perfect pupil type. When asked what I wanted to be, I drew a picture of a mummy hanging out washing and said I wanted to be a mummy. There's ambition for you! Later I wanted to be a long-distance lorry drive where I could have a dog (although I prefer cats). Funny how I never wanted to be a something in admin.
Well, I have a lot to look forward to in old age, I can see. There's lots to fill in there!
Apart from that I remember my elder brother not being pleased that I was around and showing it... Don't worry though, I got my own back in female ways such as taking all the tyres off his Dinky cars because we had a little tyre rack and then they all got hoovered up. That was years later though.
I've heard some people can remember back as far as 2 years old. I'm just hoping that as I get older I can remember more. When I get to 80, if I ever do, I'm hoping I'll have a prestigious memory and remember what I used to get up to in fine detail so people will come and interview me to find out what it was like to grow up in a 1960s standard-type family. Maybe I'll sing them nursery rhymes in a quavery voice as by then no one will ever sing them to their kids and yet will be full of nostalgia for those who did.
I remember more clearly when I started school - my uniform, classroom where we all fought to use the wooden crane and I was very sensible. Perfect pupil type. When asked what I wanted to be, I drew a picture of a mummy hanging out washing and said I wanted to be a mummy. There's ambition for you! Later I wanted to be a long-distance lorry drive where I could have a dog (although I prefer cats). Funny how I never wanted to be a something in admin.
Well, I have a lot to look forward to in old age, I can see. There's lots to fill in there!
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