A Risk, I Suppose

I hate driving around.  It’s no big deal, riding over to the school to drop off kids or pick them back up.  But it’s the frequency.  And there you are with the third or fourth trip of the day, the second or third request that is assumed and presumptuous:  “Hi dad, I’m ready.  Come now.”  And quickly, you’re cast in that routine you never thought you’d wind up in:  “In my day, we had to walk.”

Do I really want my daughters to walk around here?  It’s a suburban neighborhood.  But people drive with selfish abandon.  Pedestrians and bikes are supposed to give way to every car’s whim and more than one intersection there ought to be but isn’t a traffic light, hence it's a game of chicken, every time.  Still, they’re getting older and while biking is a bit worrisome I confess, walking is only a thirty-minute commitment.  I most assuredly had that kind of walk home at their age, all the places I ever lived.   And we had hills.

I discussed it with my wife and she was firmly set on maintaining the pickups.  People could follow them home and . . .  I can’t really refute this.  There is always a risk, I suppose.  But there would be a risk anywhere.  People in Tokyo let their seven year-olds ride the subway by themselves.  It’s all quite a bit more ordered of course, but it isn’t without ‘risks’ in any metropolis.  To what extent do we pamper and shelter kids here in this environment?  To what extent to you have different standards for what you’d push a boy to do as opposed to a girl?  The world doesn’t treat them the same, no matter what you’d like it to be. 

So one child is “ready” at four and the other at five and they both need to be taken back out at six for their boxing class.  An hour later of course, they’ll need to be picked up.  I fiddle with the tunes in the car.  The chord to connect the iPhone is frayed and so I just listen through the phone’s speakers.  And once again I wave to the guy who raises the barricade at the exit, look both ways to make sure I’m not cutting anyone off and veer right into my suburban fate.