Various digital
devices now help parents locate and track their children—for many, the safety
factors are appealing. Wearable GPS tracking devices mean Mom and Dad can look
at a screen and know if six-year-old Jane is wandering away from the family
picnic or if sixteen-year-old Johnny has cranked up the family car to 80 mph on
his way to the convenience store.
Helicopter parents and
free-range devotees can argue the merits of these monitoring systems, but I
know one thing for sure: such precision parenting methods would have ruined our
days as predigital kids growing up on a farm.
My dad and his brother
managed a 480-acre crop and livestock operation. Until we were old enough to do
chores and drive tractors, we kids thought of this land as our private
playground. With ten boys and four girls in the combined families, we needed
the space—creeks, pastures, groves, and barns were perfect for tunnels and hay
forts. Somehow, no one got killed.
We grew up when
digital referred to the fingers we used to dial the new rotary phone that hung
on our kitchen wall. A GPS app on mom’s iPad would have completely altered life
as we knew it. The screen would have flashed warnings at regular intervals.
What’s the icon for a bee sting, a fish hook in the finger, an accidental fall
in the creek? A modern-day parent might have sent in an emergency drone when
the screen showed excited cattle running at a few goofy boys crossing the
pasture or when one of the younger kids was talked into climbing high up in the
cottonwood tree and was now too scared to descend.
A recent ad for one
tracking device says, “Whether your child is starting kindergarten or middle
school, wearable GPS technology helps you keep track of their day without being
too intrusive—giving you the peace of mind that every parent dreams of.” When I
envision Mom and Aunt Ruth monitoring us, the phrase “peace of mind” does not
float by—more like an image of that Norwegian painting called “The Scream.”
It would not have been
fun for us either. A
parent with a digital monitor might have stopped us from trying to roll up
dried corn silks in paper for our first venture into Marlboro Country. And any
Little League parent would have sent the authorities to intercede when we
played ball. First base was a tree, center field was a road ditch, and the
rules were arbitrary. “Tagged ya. Yer out.” “No fair. I tripped over the dog on
my way ‘round second.”
Modern wearables for
kids might include phones and internet access, so we could have looked up “dam construction”
as we were moving rocks and packing mud in the creek. Chances are, we never
would have slowed the water’s flow; we would have been sitting on the bank
playing Candy Crush or texting friends. On the other hand, Mom could have
messaged us when it was time to trudge home for dinner. It was easy to ignore
the high-tech method we used back then—Aunt Ruth turned on the yard light. We
always had an excuse. “Gee, sorry we’re late, Mom. We were having a rotten
apple war in the grove. Terry and Mike had us pinned down behind the oak tree.”
Responsibilities and
“maturity” eventually encroached on our playground, but for a wonderful stretch
of time, we wandered off the radar screens. Whether it was one of us rolling in
a pile of leaves with our dog or seven of us crossing into the neighbor’s woods
to hunt for beaver dams, we knew there wasn’t a benevolent Big Brother
watching. For better or worse, we trudged back into the house by meal time and
answered that classic question, Where did you go? Out. What did you do?
Nothing.*
by dan gogerty
Note: * The title of a popular bestseller
when it first appeared in 1957, Where
Did You Go? Out. What Did You Do? Nothing is Robert Paul Smith's
nostalgic look back on his 1920s childhood.