The following story is true. The family asked
me not to use their real names.
NOBLESVILLE, INDIANA A week
before this past Christmas, 9-year-old Jacob Smith was excited for Santa’s
visit. In his family’s picturesque Victorian-era home with its deep,
wrap-around porch, hardwood floors and tall ceilings, he wrote a letter to
Santa.
He’d been thinking of Santa’s cottage, set up on
the courthouse lawn just down the street from his home. Santa had a mailbox there
for just such a letter.
Warning: This story will end with Jacob’s parents
being questioned by the police and child protective services. If you’re looking
for a light-hearted Christmas story, this isn't it.
Jacob’s father is an award-winning schoolteacher,
his mother a free-lance marketing specialist. The next morning before school
they agreed to let him walk alone the 4 blocks to the courthouse square to put
his letter in Santa’s mailbox.
 |
| Santa's cottage on Noblesville's square. Painted by Rodney Reveal |
It’s a ridiculously, unbelievably Normal
Rockwell-ish journey, down a brick street lined with historic architecture
where Jacob often walked the family dog – a loveable, old blind mutt, past the
doors of his family’s friends, even other family members, the route for
Christmas, 4th of July, and Homecoming parades, and then past
the coffee shop, restaurants, and businesses his family visits regularly. He
dropped the letter in Santa’s mailbox and turned for home, deciding to take the
alley that runs from the square east-west behind his house, knowing that
would lead him a few steps closer to the family’s kitchen door.
Halfway home he was stopped by an elderly woman in
a car. She asked what he was doing in the alley in the dark. He told her his
name, his parent’s names, his address, and that he was just a couple blocks
from home. She parked her car and insisted that he stop and walk with her to
his home. Once home, Jacob told his mother about the elderly woman he met in
the alley.
And then a police officer arrived at their door,
asking why Jacob had been allowed to walk to the square before school (the
elderly woman had apparently called the police). Jacob’s mother recalls an
awkward exchange with the female officer who warned Jacob that there were bad
people in the neighborhood. And though no law defines such matters, the officer
got into a discussion with Jacob’s mother about the specifics of what was safe
and not safe in the neighborhood where Jacob’s family had lived for years, but
where the officer didn’t live. Again, no law defines these matters, it was just
the officer telling Jacob’s mom what she thought should be allowed.
“You know since a child is involved, I’ll have a
file a report with the Department of Child Services,” the officer said before
leaving.
Once the officer left, Jacob’s mother explained to him
that his neighborhood was safe and that he would be free to explore it, with
permission, that he shouldn’t stop for adults no matter who they are,
especially when he’s confident in what he is doing, that she and Jacob’s father
weren’t going to by hypervigilant helicopter parents who obsessed over his
every move, that part of growing up is having freedom, making mistakes, and
learning to be independent. She told him not to be afraid, but instead to make
smart choices.
Then the Child Services lady showed up saying she
was there to talk about the “alleged neglect.” This involved a meeting with the
entire family around the dining room table, one that left Jacob, his little
brother, and his parents uncomfortable. They were being judged for behavior
that is not specifically defined anywhere in law, accusations that were leveled
by an anonymous, unnamed elderly stranger whose credentials amounted to, at
most, having a differing opinion from Jacob’s parents about what was safe in
the neighborhood.
Think a moment about this true story. Today,
Jacob’s parents are called “free-range parents.” This kind of parenting was
simply called “parenting” a generation ago. But today, a stranger could stop
your child, redirect your child’s activities, and escort your child somewhere
at their sole direction. And because that stranger simply called the police,
you could find yourself questioned and lectured by not only the police, but by
Child Services on private parenting decisions that have no specific definition
in law. It's just one person in a position of power with a differing opinion
about child rearing.
And consider that now there is a document in a file
and a pdf. in a database that Jacob’s parents were asked to sign showing Child
Services had been called to Jacob’s house. Can you imagine the next time a
hypervigilant adult with ideas about parenting that differ from Jacob’s
parent's ideas decides to call the police because a 9-year-old boy is walking
the family dog on the courthouse square (which Jacob does with his parent’s
permission). The newspaper or TV story would likely have a line that reads,
“This isn’t the first time Child Services has been called to the Smith home.”
If you’re middle aged or older, you
know that the freedom Jacob's parents have given him was no big deal in your
childhood, as your parents likely gave you far more freedom. Had these
standards been in place during my childhood, my parents would have
been in jail.
Is the world really more dangerous today for
children? I'll look at that question next week in the Hoosier Contrarian.
“Kurt Meyer’s The Salvage Man is a gentle Midwestern fantasy made up of one treasure after another. Part historical fiction, part love story, and part rumination on modern day life, this novel asks hard questions about the world we live in and the world we leave behind. I couldn’t put it down.”
Larry D. Sweazy, author of A Thousand Falling Crows
“Meyer turns the pages of history with gentle care and a warm heart, creating a story I’ll remember forever. Thank you Kurt Meyer for opening a door to my beloved town’s past and allowing me to travel the streets and meet the people of Noblesville 1893.”
Susan Crandall, Author of Whistling Past the Graveyard
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