I want to preface this by saying I was inspired to ask this question after watching Judge Judy, who seems to think that kids should not be left to their own devices outdoors and should be supervised at all times, even when out riding bikes in the neighborhood.
I was not raised that way. In fact, I often spent all day outdoors, playing with neighborhood kids. When we lived in upstate New York, there was a construction project going on in our suburban backyards where people were trenching for plumbing or electrical. We would spend all day in those trenches having dirt clod fights, no parents in sight. I lived there from age 8 to age 10
We also used to ride our bikes around all day in the neighborhood and beyond. I rode my bike to school and rode it at least a couple of miles to Little League practice, no parents around.
One of my fondest memories was the summer of my 9th year, when me and three or four other boys from my neighborhood planned a trip to some foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, which we could see beckoning to us from our front yards. We could also see a building on top of one of those mountains and rumor had it among us boys that it was a monastery, manned by some particularly militant monks, who would patrol the mountain in jeeps, looking for trespassers. We could also see from certain areas of our neighborhood some of the Green Mountains of Revolutionary War fame, but they were much farther away.
We (or at least I) planned this trip with the full approval of our parents. In fact, my mother packed a lunch for me of a ham sandwich, an apple and a thermos of Kool-Aid. We rode our bikes to this foothill. It was much farther than it looked. We dropped our bikes off on the side of the road and started up the mountain without them, because we anticipated having to dodge monks patrolling in their jeeps and it would be easier to hide without bikes. The road up to what we thought was a monastery was carved into the side of the mountain and spiraled around it, rising higher as it went. Whenever we heard an engine, whether imaginary or not, we would rush off the road, climbing uphill at the side of the road into the woods and hide until the threat passed or we felt brave enough to continue.
I don't think we ever did see a jeep full of monks, but we took to the woods several times as we made our way up. We could actually climb up to the next level of the road. We never did find a monastery either, but we did find an old shack that had what looked to us young boys like hand grenade pins that had been pulled out before the grenades were tossed out the windows. In our feverish imagination, we pictured a huge battle against fierce monks in a desperate struggle against formidable odds in that little shack. In retrospect, the items we found were not hand grenade pins, but some kind of metal clips that might have been used to attach something to a belt. There were dozens of them scattered on the floor of that shack, but I don't know what they were for sure.
We explored that wooded area for a good long time and sat down to enjoy our lunch alongside a trickling brook. We traversed a huge gash in the side of a mountain where it looked like a landslide had occurred, and slaked our thirst in a mountain spring. Like I said, we never found the monastery, and maybe we had the wrong mountain because there was definitely a building atop one of those hills that we could see from our houses.
Around supper time, we dragged our weary bodies home, tired but full of stories of our adventures. We were never scolded for being out all day. So do you think we had bad parents? Judge Judy sure seems to think so.
I was not raised that way. In fact, I often spent all day outdoors, playing with neighborhood kids. When we lived in upstate New York, there was a construction project going on in our suburban backyards where people were trenching for plumbing or electrical. We would spend all day in those trenches having dirt clod fights, no parents in sight. I lived there from age 8 to age 10
We also used to ride our bikes around all day in the neighborhood and beyond. I rode my bike to school and rode it at least a couple of miles to Little League practice, no parents around.
One of my fondest memories was the summer of my 9th year, when me and three or four other boys from my neighborhood planned a trip to some foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, which we could see beckoning to us from our front yards. We could also see a building on top of one of those mountains and rumor had it among us boys that it was a monastery, manned by some particularly militant monks, who would patrol the mountain in jeeps, looking for trespassers. We could also see from certain areas of our neighborhood some of the Green Mountains of Revolutionary War fame, but they were much farther away.
We (or at least I) planned this trip with the full approval of our parents. In fact, my mother packed a lunch for me of a ham sandwich, an apple and a thermos of Kool-Aid. We rode our bikes to this foothill. It was much farther than it looked. We dropped our bikes off on the side of the road and started up the mountain without them, because we anticipated having to dodge monks patrolling in their jeeps and it would be easier to hide without bikes. The road up to what we thought was a monastery was carved into the side of the mountain and spiraled around it, rising higher as it went. Whenever we heard an engine, whether imaginary or not, we would rush off the road, climbing uphill at the side of the road into the woods and hide until the threat passed or we felt brave enough to continue.
I don't think we ever did see a jeep full of monks, but we took to the woods several times as we made our way up. We could actually climb up to the next level of the road. We never did find a monastery either, but we did find an old shack that had what looked to us young boys like hand grenade pins that had been pulled out before the grenades were tossed out the windows. In our feverish imagination, we pictured a huge battle against fierce monks in a desperate struggle against formidable odds in that little shack. In retrospect, the items we found were not hand grenade pins, but some kind of metal clips that might have been used to attach something to a belt. There were dozens of them scattered on the floor of that shack, but I don't know what they were for sure.
We explored that wooded area for a good long time and sat down to enjoy our lunch alongside a trickling brook. We traversed a huge gash in the side of a mountain where it looked like a landslide had occurred, and slaked our thirst in a mountain spring. Like I said, we never found the monastery, and maybe we had the wrong mountain because there was definitely a building atop one of those hills that we could see from our houses.
Around supper time, we dragged our weary bodies home, tired but full of stories of our adventures. We were never scolded for being out all day. So do you think we had bad parents? Judge Judy sure seems to think so.
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