Renaissance Redneck: The happy wanderer

Courtesy of Mr TGT
I recently read an article about a single mother in Georgia who is facing up to a year in jail plus a $1,000 fine for allowing her 14-year-old daughter to babysit her siblings.

This occurred during the height of the ongoing novel coronavirus pandemic in May 2020, when the daycare the mom normally used was closed due to COVID-19. The 14-year-old babysitting daughter was online schooling when her 4-year-old brother slipped out the door and was playing on the spacious front lawn of their home. The 4-year-old then spotted a neighborhood friend and followed him to his house across the street, where the neighbor’s mother immediately called the police.

Two weeks later, the single mother was arrested, handcuffed in front of her children, and incarcerated at the local jailhouse.

It is a mystery as to why the neighboring mother called the cops rather than bring the child back home or at least call the wandering boy’s house to let them know he was safe. Perhaps the two households had a prior “history?” Whatever the circumstances, the phone call to the authorities was a mean-spirited move.

I checked the child supervision guidelines regarding the legal age of babysitters and “latchkey” children. In Georgia, a babysitter must be at least 13 years old and a latchkey child must be at least 9 years of age. In New Hampshire, there is no specified minimum age for a babysitter or a latchkey child.

In this age of helicopter parenting, where some children are monitored 24/7 — either by a responsible adult or a remote camera — where should the line be drawn between responsible overwatch and individual freedoms? Yes, a 4-year-old needs to be monitored and kept safe from harm. But the sooner the apron strings can be cut, the better for the child to begin to explore and experience life’s pleasures and pitfalls for themselves.

I became a latchkey child at the age of 8 when my mother went to work, joining my father, in order to save money for a downpayment toward a home of their own. It took 15 years for them to save enough money for this endeavor, their only son had a hearty appetite.

While we lived in town I had free reign of my life from 6:30 in the morning until 4:30 in the afternoon. My only responsibilities were to get to school on time in the morning and to be home before they got home from work.

A year or so later we moved to a rented house in the country, on Red Water Brook Road, to avoid any temptations that faced me in the city of Claremont. I had overheard one of their private conversations through an air duct in my second-story bedroom floor. I was all for the move to the country. Huckleberry Finn here we come!

My boyhood days were to be filled with slingshots, treehouses, and boomerangs. There was a kids only fishing brook trout stream running behind the house. There were fields to course, woods to explore, and rope swings over swimming holes. I had even greater freedom in this rural situation, there were no constricting boundaries as to my wanderings and I did not have to be home until supper. The one and only rule meted out by my parents was that I was under no circumstances to give any of the elderly women in the neighborhood a hard time, or disrespect of any ilk toward the ladies, ever. I wandered through the various neighbor’s hay and cattle barns unimpeded, dug worms in a neighbor’s old chicken coop, suggested to me because it was easily tilled by a 9-year-old with a dung fork. Often I just joined in on any gathering that might be occurring, just like I was part of the family that I had infringed upon. They did not seem to mind, but now as I look back, perhaps I wasn’t adept at taking hints from those polite folks.

The world was my pearl oyster to shuck. And we were all just “Aw-shucks” down home folks.

David Kittredge is a regular Lifestyles contributor to the Eagle Times. You can send comments to him via the editor at [email protected].