No Child Left Inside

“Mommy!  Watch this!” my son shouts at me and then blazes across the living room rocketing into the wall.  Crash.  “I am SO fast!”

“Waach mi Mommy,” my daughter smiles at me with sparkling eyes.  Zoom, she loops around a small circle and tumbles into a pillow laying on the carpet.

Disclaimer: I am the Mom; therefore, I think my kids run like hell.  I did not always have “Mom-eyes” and once upon a time the kids that I observed “running” were not my own.  New York City kids, well, it is a strange observation, but I am pretty sure that most of them cannot run….scratch that…run…like runners.

OK, OK, not the two boys visiting from Denmark who smoked my rear in a Central Park race, but the little-little people, the under four crowd.  My husband and I joked about this phenomenon.  Walking through the park pushing our son, we began to observe playground behavior.  Afterall, “that” was coming our way.

We watched kids sit inside rather “cozy” corrals and barely any broke a stride.  When they did, arms flailed, legs turned out or in or just stopped short.  Tumbles, drops, and looks of confusion abound.  “Isn’t that strange?” my husband asked.

Four year old Josh lived downstairs from us.  Neighbors complained that he was “spastic” and a “menace.”  I borrowed Josh’s nanny so that I could return to work and that is how I came to know Josh.  He lived in the living room.  His parents’ one bedroom apartment housed himself, them, and two cats.  Josh was born in NYC and his parents had no intention of leaving.  I went to his home to pick up my son and spot light on the obvious.  A four year old boy living in a shoe box is going to be a spaz.  I would be right there with him, but I was old enough to go for a run.  My walls did not seem as tight.

I took Josh to Central Park one Saturday.  He lived a ten minute walk from the park, but did not know the last time he had been in it.  I threw him a frisbee and watched him run after it.  Glasses sliding down his nose, a drip of snot coming out the end, jacket parachuting behind him, and feet awkardly beating up the grass, he chased it with utter delight. 

I am pretty sure the dog-whisper talks about this exemplary behavior in our four-legged friends.  Kids are clearly not poodles, but hey, everybody needs to run….or dig….or lift….or just smell some fresh air.

I spent the afternoon at Shipwreck park here in Santa Barbara.  No problem with running kids.  They lept all over the place bounding about naturally and full of youthful grace.  Warm sun hit my face and I thought how wonderful it is to be here.

Then my son crapped his pants and a “big-boy” called him “stinky poo-poo-butt.”  Ahhhh, son, the truth is the truth.  Now about that fresh air?

~ by drea on June 17, 2009.