In a few weeks my daughter will turn four. She informed us that everyone needs to wear a princess dress to the party where there will be unicorns, balloons of every color, and treats. She doesn’t say there will be tantrums when cousins play with her toys, but that is a given. Hardly a day went by this year without a reference of some kind to her birthday. I am amazed by her persistence, how she grows, and the responsibility we have as parents to raise her.
We looked into daycare for one day during the pregnancy. The only place we visited was a few miles from our house. The cost wasn’t cheap, but it was reasonable and a convenient transfer point for both of us. The reception desk sat vacant, strewn with papers, with no signs to orient us. It smelled like unwashed toys and the floor was that rubbery linoleum substance imprinted to look like marble but looks tacky and echoes every sound. We stood in the doorway, seeing children playing with toys behind a window, but no adults in sight.
A little girl, about the same age as my daughter is now, ran up to my wife and asked, “Are you my mommy?” It took me a second to realize what she’d said. I melted. She didn’t spend enough time with her mother to even know what she looked like. I don’t remember what we did next, only that we drove away heart-broken and determined to make any sacrifice for our daughter.
Now I wonder what kind of care that little girl is getting. Does her father come home every evening after work, pretend not to see her hiding under her table, then shovel mouthfuls of food into his mouth so he can play? Do they go up to her toy room and sit on the floor, surrounded by fire-stations, castles, parks, camping spots, hair salons, and restaurants, each staffed by a host of creatures big and small with separate voices and histories, acting out intricate scenarios? Do they sit on the back porch swing eating Popsicles, chatting and watching kids’ videos until the sun sets? Can her stubborn fits be countered by anthropomorphizing whatever she doesn’t want to do? Oh no, please don’t flush the toilet! We want to sit here and stink forever. Hey, what are you doing? Why do you have a toothbrush? Put that away! We want to stay on your teeth and make them rot! Does that little girl have a “secret hiding place” in the kitchen island cupboard where she keeps a fuzzy yellow blanket, pillow, and snacks to sit quietly when she needs a break? Does she have meltdowns because parade candy isn’t a breakfast food?
These days of childhood purity will not last, but the joys and challenges will always be there. My daughter is fortunate to have a mother that can stay home to guide her development in the way only a mother can. Does she receive more attention than most children in a state where 3-5 kids in a family is the norm? Yes. Is she at three years old, already more articulate than I was when I graduated High School? Yes. Will she face social pressures growing up an only child in a home separated from the monolithic religious majority? Yes. Would I rather have her face those troubles than be shaped by the fungal thoughts of that patriarchal gerontocracy? Absolutely.
After seeing the concerned hope in the eyes of that girl in the day care, and knowing how many human monsters lurk in society, I wish every child could have the happiness and security we give to our daughter. No child deserves to be raised by strangers, left hungry in the cold, or snatched from the sidewalk, never to be seen again.
Children are our future and I shudder at the catastrophes we are setting up for them. Our sewage is theirs to clean up, but are we equipping them with the tools for that job? Our society spends more money killing our children than we do feeding or teaching them. What will it take to fix this? Can you extinguish a star with a squirt gun? Maybe not, but you can at least use that water to keep your family alive for as long as it lasts.
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