I was at a corn roast in Ottawa-Carleton this past weekend and the folks sitting at the table we were sitting at talked about how things have changed raising kids. One woman said she and her sister played outdoors in the rural area they lived in and the only rule her mother had was they had to be in for supper at 6 p.m. “We were eight and 10 years old. No one fussed over us,” she said.
A man told of a school bus skidding off the road into a snow bank a few years ago in the winter and parents came flying over in their vehicles, cell phones in hand, ready to call their lawyers and sue if the kids were hurt in any way.
I first heard the term “helicopter parents” from my sister two years ago when her daughter had her first child.
Recently I read that a university professor described the rise of the cell phone as a contributing factor for helicopter parenting — having called cell phones “the world’s longest umbilical cord”.
A helicopter parent is a parent who pays extremely close attention to a child’s or children’s experiences and problems, particularly at educational institutions. Helicopter parents are so named because, like helicopters, they hover overhead, overseeing their child’s life.
The term “helicopter parent” gained wide currency when American college administrators began using it in the early 2000s as the Millennial Generation began reaching college age. Their baby-boomer parents earned notoriety for practices such as calling their children each morning to wake them up for class and complaining to their professors about grades the children had received. Summer camp officials have also reported similar behavior from these parents.
Some studies have shown that overprotective, overbearing or over-controlling parents can cause long-term mental health problems for their offspring.
I found a poem that tells how we baby boomers were raised. Enjoy!
I remember the bologna of my childhood,
And the bread that we cut with a knife,
When the children helped with the housework,
And the men went to work not the wife.
The cheese never needed a fridge,
And the bread was so crusty and hot,
The children were seldom unhappy,
And the wife was content with her lot.
I remember the milk from the bottle,
With the yummy cream on the top,
Our dinner came hot from the oven,
And not from a freezer; or shop.
The kids were a lot more contented,
They didn’t need money for kicks,
Just a game with their friends in the road,
And sometimes the Saturday flicks.
I remember the shop on the corner,
Where cookies for pennies were sold
Do you think I’m a bit too nostalgic?
Or is it….I’m just getting old?
Bathing was done in a wash tub,
With plenty of rich foamy suds
But the ironing seemed never ending
As mama pressed everyone’s ‘duds’.
I remember the slap on my backside,
And the taste of soap if I swore
Anorexia and diets weren’t heard of
And we hadn’t much choice what we wore.
Do you think that bruised our ego?
Or our initiative was destroyed?
We ate what was put on the table
And I think life was better enjoyed.
Author, Unknown
