http://www.violentacres.com/archives/389/the-negative-effects-of-child-fear-mongering/I was sitting in the middle of the long, white driveway that snaked
its way toward the family garage. The day was so hot the heat from the
pavement periodically burned my thighs. But instead of abandoning my
project, I merely shifted position until I was propped up on my knees.
While my backside temporarily cooled, I reached into my bucket and
grabbed another piece of chalk. Carefully, I used it to draw a number 7
in the appropriate box of my hopscotch board. I stared critically at it
for a moment, wondering if I should draw a line through it like Barbie,
my best friend from school, usually did. I continued to deliberate
until I heard my front door slam.
I looked up quickly to see my Mother carefully maneuvering her way
in my direction. A giant purse was slung over her shoulder and her arms
were loaded with packages. The heel of her stiletto got caught in the
crack of the sidewalk and her entire body jerked with the effort of
remaining upright. However, I was completely unsurprised when my Mom
recovered from her brief moment of clumsiness without dropping a single
package. She was nearly an expert when it came to walking in those
shoes.
"V!" she called to me, "Come on, we've got to go!"
"Where are we going?" I questioned mildly.
"I've got to run some errands," she answered, "Get in the car."
Errands. How incredibly boring. I wanted no part of it.
"Couldn't I stay here?" I asked hopefully, "I've got to finish this hopscotch board."
"I'm afraid not," she insisted, "It would be too late for me to find you a babysitter now."
The force of my Mother's words caused me to rear back so suddenly I
lost my balance and landed unceremoniously on my butt. Shame and
humiliation turned my cheeks a fiery shade of red. I blinked my eyes
quickly as if I'd been recently slapped. My lips pursed dramatically;
I'm sure I looked like I just swallowed a rotten lemon.
"Mother," I whispered, shocked and insulted, "I do not need a babysitter. I am not a baby. I am six years old! I am a kid!"
"Well, that may be so," she said, slightly amused, "But you still need a babysitter."
Almost too stunned to answer, I replied, "I am old enough to take care of myself!"
"Is that so? What would you do all day here by yourself?"
"I'd finish my hopscotch!"
"And then what?"
"I'd go inside and play with my toys!"
"What if you got hungry?"
"I'd make myself something to eat!"
I was nearly dumbfounded. I couldn't understand why she was asking
me all of these questions. Could it be my own Mother thought I was a total idiot?
"Would you use the stove or the microwave without an adult? Would you leave this house without asking?"
"No!"
My Mother stared at me skeptically for a moment. I stared back, face
pensive, heart thumping in my chest a million beats a minute. Suddenly,
her face relaxed.
Then, "OK, I will let you try it on one condition."
I nodded eagerly.
"You don't mention this to your Father."