The little thought I had given to this subject in the past left me believing that I had to create a village - gather friends, meet my neighbors, get involved in my community - you know, all the things "good" mothers do. The other day, though, I had an epiphany. This epiphany came to me in the usual manner - while I was on the toilet.
I was in a public restroom with my 2 year old son. As a 2 year old, he wanted nothing less than to be confined, so he crawled under the stall to look for more entertaining things. And there was the sink! Hallelujah! There also was a woman washing her hands at the sink. And I was stuck on the john.
I listened to their interaction. My son only grunts and nods, so I mainly heard the woman talking to him:
"You want some soap? Okay. Put your hand under here. No, here. There you go!"
Happy grunt.
"Now rub together. No you don't need soap on both hands, just rub together."
Unhappy grunt.
"Ready to rinse? Oh, you need some help reaching the water. Okay. Up you go."
Shriek of delight.
Now dry your hands.
At this point, I emerge from my stall with an empty bladder and a great idea for this blog.
The woman asked me how old he was, said he was cute, and left.
She was part of the village. We didn't know each other, but she helped my son wash his hands, and had the same rules I did! Use soap, rub together, rinse, dry. My village is pretty big - almost half a million people - so knowing everyone on a first-name basis is a challenge. I also do not have time to check references or perform criminal background checks on each random person in the grocery store, gas station, and public restroom.
So how do I teach my children that the world is a wonderful place worth discovering and experiencing? How do I let them know that not all strangers are bad, that some are worth talking to? In short, how do I teach them to trust themselves?
It's a razor-fine line to walk between trusting people and being a victim-in-waiting. I want my kids to explore, to run into people they don't know without me instantly protecting them from an imperceptible harm. I want them to feel free. Of course, I don't want people to see me as an inattentive parent whose child can easily be kidnapped. The only thing that keeps me balanced between trust and sucker is my intuition. I listen for that voice that may tell me a person's intents are not good. I wait for that feeling to come to tell me to get me and my children out of a situation fast. If that voice or that feeling don't come, I hang out in my village.
Being part of a village means you have to know people. I don't mean that you have to meet each person by name, but you have to know some key people: the village healer, the village grandpa, the village idiot, the village pervert. In a village the size of a city, these people change faces and names, so you have to turn to that inner voice to discern who is playing which role in your village. Once you have this down, the rest is easy. As a parent, you reap the benefits of the villagers who shower your children with love, who reinforce rules that you have in your home, who protect your children from disease.
In turn, your child reaps the benefits of a world that is lots of fun, generally pretty safe, and sometimes a little scary. It will take a lot of time for your child to learn the places and times that allow for carefree abandon and those requiring great caution. With a parent's watchful eye from a distant corner, your child will learn. And in the learning, they will have so much to tell you about their discoveries. For no matter the size or makeup of a village, for children, the best place is still home.
Tell me where you find your village, and how you are helping your children find their place in it.
Peace.
