The front page of Monday’s National Post informed me that North American parks are witnessing a “war on the toboggan.”
“Dubuque, Iowa, is set to ban toboggans in nearly all its 50 parks,” reporter Jen Gerson wrote. “Other cities, including Des Moines, Iowa; Montville, New Jersey; Lincoln, Nebraska; and Columbia City, Indiana, are following suit by restricting certain runs or posting signs warning people away. . . . In Canada, Hamilton has restricted sledding on pain of a hefty fine for almost 15 years.” (...)
When I was a young kid on vacation in the Laurentians, my mother would zip my sister and me up in our ski jackets and toss us outside the very moment there was snow on the ground. We would go up and down the hill until one of us was frostbitten or injured. My mother’s level of participation consisted of making us hot chocolate when we returned home. I have no idea what she did while we were out risking our necks. I assume she was reading, since mom always managed to blast through great stacks of books and magazines when we headed up north. As for my dad, he often was in the garage, where he pursued a hobby restoring World War II–era US Army jeeps.
As any modern parent knows, this is not how tobogganing works in 2015. The idea of sending young kids out on their own is considered dangerous since, in their childish stupidity, they presumably will pick a too-steep hill and crash. Or they will arrive safely at the bottom of the hill and glide right into the arms of a waiting pedophile.
What happens instead is that the whole family goes out to the hill together as part of their weekend “quality time.” Maybe mom gets on the toboggan, to steer the thing, and keep the kids safe, and prove she is a Fun Mom. Maybe dad takes pictures on his smartphone to post to Facebook. The whole thing lasts about ten minutes, because that’s how long it takes one parent to get bored and the other to get cold. Also, the kids are whiney—because mom and dad, mom and mom, or dad and dad are both in attendance, so, hey, why not. (...)
It’s common for culture critics to lament that our obsession with safety has made children risk-averse and less adventurous. And it’s true—they are. But what we don’t talk about nearly as often is how this affects parents. I just spent the last two weeks on winter vacation with my young children, who now are around the age I was in my rock-hopping and tobogganing prime. During this period, I dutifully accompanied them through the whole gamut of wholesome outdoor activities. In two weeks, I read exactly half a book, and restored zero army jeeps.
According to one study I’ve seen, twenty-first century parents spend something like three times as much time with their children as parents did in the 1960s—despite the fact that we also are working harder to make money. When I go home tonight, I will help my kids with their homework (despite the fact that my assistance won’t statistically help them do any better in school), then I will hover over them to ensure they eat the nutritious parts of their dinner, referee their arguments, read them books (look, Facebook, we’re enjoying Dr. Seuss!), and, finally, lie with them in bed until they fall asleep. At this point, the day will be over, and I will go to sleep, too. Thus do the child-free, late-evening hours—which my wife and I might otherwise use to drink cocktails, talk, and watch television together—evaporate into nothingness.
“Dubuque, Iowa, is set to ban toboggans in nearly all its 50 parks,” reporter Jen Gerson wrote. “Other cities, including Des Moines, Iowa; Montville, New Jersey; Lincoln, Nebraska; and Columbia City, Indiana, are following suit by restricting certain runs or posting signs warning people away. . . . In Canada, Hamilton has restricted sledding on pain of a hefty fine for almost 15 years.” (...)
When I was a young kid on vacation in the Laurentians, my mother would zip my sister and me up in our ski jackets and toss us outside the very moment there was snow on the ground. We would go up and down the hill until one of us was frostbitten or injured. My mother’s level of participation consisted of making us hot chocolate when we returned home. I have no idea what she did while we were out risking our necks. I assume she was reading, since mom always managed to blast through great stacks of books and magazines when we headed up north. As for my dad, he often was in the garage, where he pursued a hobby restoring World War II–era US Army jeeps.As any modern parent knows, this is not how tobogganing works in 2015. The idea of sending young kids out on their own is considered dangerous since, in their childish stupidity, they presumably will pick a too-steep hill and crash. Or they will arrive safely at the bottom of the hill and glide right into the arms of a waiting pedophile.
What happens instead is that the whole family goes out to the hill together as part of their weekend “quality time.” Maybe mom gets on the toboggan, to steer the thing, and keep the kids safe, and prove she is a Fun Mom. Maybe dad takes pictures on his smartphone to post to Facebook. The whole thing lasts about ten minutes, because that’s how long it takes one parent to get bored and the other to get cold. Also, the kids are whiney—because mom and dad, mom and mom, or dad and dad are both in attendance, so, hey, why not. (...)
It’s common for culture critics to lament that our obsession with safety has made children risk-averse and less adventurous. And it’s true—they are. But what we don’t talk about nearly as often is how this affects parents. I just spent the last two weeks on winter vacation with my young children, who now are around the age I was in my rock-hopping and tobogganing prime. During this period, I dutifully accompanied them through the whole gamut of wholesome outdoor activities. In two weeks, I read exactly half a book, and restored zero army jeeps.
According to one study I’ve seen, twenty-first century parents spend something like three times as much time with their children as parents did in the 1960s—despite the fact that we also are working harder to make money. When I go home tonight, I will help my kids with their homework (despite the fact that my assistance won’t statistically help them do any better in school), then I will hover over them to ensure they eat the nutritious parts of their dinner, referee their arguments, read them books (look, Facebook, we’re enjoying Dr. Seuss!), and, finally, lie with them in bed until they fall asleep. At this point, the day will be over, and I will go to sleep, too. Thus do the child-free, late-evening hours—which my wife and I might otherwise use to drink cocktails, talk, and watch television together—evaporate into nothingness.
by Jonathan Kay, The Walrus | Read more:
Image: B.W. Muir/Forest History Society
