The Wild Things

Childhood in the 70s was insane by today’s standards. 30-something parents of this year of our Lord twenty twenty-three have no clue. The memes are all true. We spent whole days outdoors with no adults around to correct our grammar, remind us of our manners, or urge us to do anything besides drinking unfiltered water from hoses in other peoples’ yards. We set off on weekend mornings, apples stuck in our pockets in case we met a wayward horse. We dug for interesting rocks, rode bicycles in paths that could circumnavigate continents, and made grand plans for all the adventures to come. Sure, there came a time when the world decided our safety was more important than our feral hearts. Who can blame us for growing up to be parents that didn’t allow for such shenanigans? The media jumped on stories about serial killers, stories about missing children, stories about the monsters of the world lying in wait. So, we guarded their little bodies, and we guarded their malleable hearts. But, we also guarded their adventure. We shackled their brains. We took away that smell of sunshine and moss and dirt and milkweed, replacing it first with cords and antennas and umbilical electronic attachments. We domesticated them. And, it shows.

This isn’t a montage of parental mistakes or generational differences. Nor is it an argument over what was done wrong, by whom, or why. It’s not a nose thumb at the government. It’s just a list of things I see as pretty straightforward facts because that’s what we need. Change never happens by spinning the truth into allegations against someone else. Change only happens with ownership. I am here to own some things. As humans, we are conquerors. Those 70s tiny hooligans conquered pastures and ponds and city dumps. We were once Medieval folk eating with our hands and bartering with blacksmiths using chickens. We overtook lands. We formed new countries. We dominated. The question comes when you stop and wonder what to do with the opposition to the act of the conquer. It is uncomfortable. We moved the indigenous to less desirable lands. We moved the animals into zoos. That is what we do when faced with problems. We conquer. We move. When the boogeymen came for our children, we handled things as we always have. We conquered, moved. We moved the children indoors.

Captivity suppresses the natural instincts of wild animals. Experts say the experience results in permanent frustration for the animal, who must operate opposite of all normal inclinations. There is excess fear. Since anger stems from fear, always, there is anger. Polar Bears in captivity experience infant mortality 65% higher than in the wild. Orcas have collapsing dorsal fins. Animals accustomed to living in solitary conditions are suddenly thrust together. They are often placed in unfamiliar and unsuitable climates. There is rampant depression. There is self-harm. They develop addictive behaviors, like pacing, swaying, head bobbing, and bar biting. They become shells of their former selves. They get overly aggressive, savage even. Life expectancy plummets. Pause. Let that sink in while thinking about the sorts of things we are dealing with now, societally. Fear. Anger. Excess depression. Selfharm. Addiction. Intense malaise. Coincidence? I think not. But, that’s not what we meant to do, we scream. We were only trying to save them – both the animals and the children. Oh, those best laid plans fall short, eh?

We are busy, busy people. I am guilty, as well. I make a list that has a list of how to do the things on that list attached to an excel spreadsheet of all my lists. I am over listed. Do this. Don’t do that. Go here. Never be late. Check the text messages. Check the GroupMe messages. Check the Messenger messages. Check the Messenger messages under that weird tab you can never find for the people who message you who aren’t your friends.

Check your DMs. Check your emails. Delete your voicemails because those are passé. Bend yourself into a pretzel and then stretch a little bit more, all while tethering yourself to all social media accounts. Watch the right TV shows. Buy what the influencers tell you to buy. Overspend, cause that’s what good Americans do. Live above your means. PEDAL FASTER. This is a snapshot of what our children watch us doing every day. We have conquered our own souls and placed them into tiny prisons. The only semblance to life we have now are the memes of how things once were. And, we did it all to ourselves, from a good place to boot! We were just trying to keep everyone safe from the boogeymen, but the boogeymen started making smart phones.

I own this. I suppressed my children out of fear. My job was keeping them safe, and I deserve a parade and a participation ribbon for those efforts. I sat, last night, watching my grandson gleefully create a digital village of cube robot people while wondering why he doesn’t revel in creating dirt tunnels in the back yard. But, children only know what we teach them. While I’m not advocating that we release the children like the little krakens they sometimes are, I do wish for more sunshine and non-Wi-Fi brain activity. I pray for adventure, that they be able to safely wander, perhaps under parental supervision, so they can conquer things like wildflowers, empty wasp’s nests, crawdads, and the occasional ditch full of water. Let them be little. Leave them wild.