A few years back, I responded to a letter to the editor in the Standard-Examiner regarding obnoxious parents who goad their children into collecting bagfuls of candy at parades. I commiserated with the writer, and also addressed similarly shameful parent behavior at Easter Egg hunts. So, in light of the upcominig holiday, and because I've been contemplating the concept of self-interest vs. altruism, I thought I would share my edited and embellished response to the original letter:

...I’ve witnessed such unbridled greed from parents and children alike. I’ve heard parents hollering at their toddlers because they are too cautious to join in the tussle of taffy-grubbing tots, scrounging the blacktop for that last sugary crumb. I’ve seen 10-year-olds knock down kindergartners for a Pixy Stick, and the parents do nothing about it! Not to mention the fact that parents are sending mixed signals on street safety. I’m not about to undo years of patient training for a measly Laffy Taffy.

And don’t even get me started on municipal Easter egg hunts. I brought my (then) two-year-old to the annual event in Syracuse. Each age group was lined up around an assigned taped off area; parents were instructed to stay on the perimeter while their children scavenged; but at the starting bell, most parents scrambled into the melee, practically leaving their toddlers in the dust, and were grabbing up eggs and filling their childrens' baskets before my toddler even had a chance to collect one egg. The entire event lasted less than two minutes. One parent, after seeing my child’s empty basket, offered to give us some of hers. Another parent laughed, "You've got to be pretty aggressive at these things."

Obviously, these parents were unclear on the concept of ""Children's Easter Egg Hunt." After this distasteful display of greed and gluttony, many parents congratulated their little ones on their "accomplishment" of a full basket. Thankfully, most of this asinine behavior was lost on my daughter, who didn't really care if there were eggs or grass clippings in her basket; but I was sorely disappointed, not because she left empty-handed, but because I had envisioned a far different scenario for her very first egg hunt, one in which I could leisurely observe her adventure, capturing pictures of the magical look of discovery on my child's sweet face; unfortunately, had I had time to take any pictures, the pictures would have mainly consisted of a sea of bent-over adult backsides.

Shame on these parents. They are setting a lousy example for not only their own children, but other children as well. At home, most parents repeat over and over the importance of sharing; and in some homes parents may even discuss the sacrifice that Christ made on our behalf, and how important it is to emulate his example; but when these parents actually get a chance to demonstrate this behavior in a community setting, all of their empty rhetoric goes out the window.

As far as community egg hunts go, I wish parents were explicitly forbidden to pick up eggs for their youngsters; but even if there is no such prohibition, I wish more parents would try to act like grownups; and let their kids enjoy their adventures at their own pace. The kid may not come home with a basket full of jelly beans, but they'll certainly come home with a heart full of happy memories.

Rotten Kids in Suburbia

In the world of Suburbia, we believe that the best neighbors are the ones we rarely see. Suburbia is designed for maximum privacy and a minimum of interaction. I'm generally quite comfortable with this setup, but in recent years, as I've learned that suburban sprawl is not only strangling our planet, but also that it seems to stifle the tribalism that's encoded into our human DNA, I've had to imagine myself living in a village setting; one in which a mishmash of families, commerce, and industry coexist; a setting in which people live and work in close proximity to each other, and therefore more readily deal with each other's differences and quirks.

When I consider village life, my greatest fear is that of chaos; of the capriciousness and noise that often accompanies such a life. As a life-long suburbanite, I find comfort in my relative anonymity and autonomy. I've been conditioned to consider a knock at my door as an annoyance and an interruption, rather than an opportunity to strengthen my community ties. Having entrenched myself in such comportment, I struggle to comprehend the upside to a different lifestyle; a village existence which contains a strong sense of community, of mutual responsibility and protection. This does not exist in Suburbia, where individualism is a sacrament.

As a mother, my greatest hope for my daughter is that she'll be happy; I've worked very hard to help her identify her own feelings, and interpret the feelings of others. I want her to fulfill her role in society, I want her to have an undeniable sense of herself so that she meets her future with adeptness and confidence. Part of this process is allowing her to socialize with other children. In Suburbia, that means that we arrange play-dates, often allowing neighborhood children into our own homes. Although there are a few parents on my block who seem to simply turn their kids loose into the neighborhood and let them play until supper time, most parents, myself included, prefer that their child play within the bounds of their own property. I simply don't trust other parents, nor do many of my neighbors. As a result, the play dates often take place at one house or another, but certainly not both. This practice seems only to further isolate us as neighbors. Does this mindset perpetuate in our children the same suburban stand-offishness that we have adopted?

In my neighborhood, there is the usual variety of children of all ages and temperaments, and I've found that some children are delightful, some are surly and self-important, while others are manipulative little tyrants. One girl, Jasmine, is of the third variety. She is being raised by her grandparents, has only a sketchy relationship with her own mother, and is horribly obnoxious. One afternoon she came over to play with Connie, but Jasmine also wanted me to join in the play. When I refused, Jasmine drew a picture on the easel of Connie strangling me. When I confronted her, she said it was just a joke; but I was deeply disturbed.

After sending Jasmine home, I considered talking to her grandparents, but I didn't, because of some strange, unwritten Suburban rule that states that parents must not interfere in the parenting of other children. Instead, I've told Connie that Jasmine is no longer allowed to come over and play. I wonder how that scene would have differed if it had occurred in a village setting; indeed, it may not have occurred at all, because in a village, all adults may take responsibility for all children, regardless of who the child belongs to. Would I have felt more comfortable marching Jasmine over to her grandparents' home? Or would I have instead felt obligated to play with Jasmine and Connie, thereby avoiding Jasmine's resentment? Or, perhaps Jasmine's biological parents would have been shamed by the "tribe" to actually take responsibility for their own child, which in turn would have helped Jasmine become a much more pleasant person to begin with? These questions are worthy of my study. What I'm certain of is that there are no easy answers to these questions, so my study will be appropriately detailed.