Whither All the Children?

I was on the couch eating a bowl of cabbage and marvelling at the deliciousness of this rather innocuous vegetable when I wondered why it is that adults in developed nations are trying to dupe their children into eating vegetables by hiding them in brownies? It seems like a daft idea, but Jerry Seinfeld’s wife actually wrote a cook book about it, and then was subsequently sued by someone else who claimed to have the idea first. Hey ladies, I’ve got an idea for you, what about just feeding your kids the damn vegetables rather than being all underhand about it? Surely all this conspiracy vegetable feeding is just adding fuel to the fire of the anti-veg crusade lead by these little brats. If they’re so awful they need to be hidden, well duh, who wants to eat them in all their original glory?

All the vegetable musing led to the general contemplation of the state of childhood today. When did we all start becoming so terrified that the darlings endure the usual childhood rites of passage? My roommate has friends who are primary school teachers who fully support the daft notion of not marking their pupils work in red, lest their precious self esteem is offended by all those red crosses (apparently the positive notion of red ticks isn’t considered). I wonder what colour they use instead, and what the possible damaging connotations of purple or green could have on their delicate psyches. Perhaps they’ll have an aversion to royalty, or grow up to be extremely jealous and totally environmentally apathetic. I’m sure research will reveal it all in time. A few weeks back I saw a news story about five year old kids’ soccer games no longer being scored because they want to encourage the participation aspect rather than the possible emotional effects of wining or losing. I’d find a link to this story, but I cannot begin to fathom how to google this ridiculous concept and fear I would be all the dumber for making the attempt. I used to play hockey as a girl, and had a spectacular season when I was eleven in which my team never won a single game. Sure, we sucked, but we had great fun doing it. We were eleven! Who cares! Surely the parents of the five year old soccer players realise that a base concept of the sport is the outcome of a winner. And even more surely they must realise that seeing a gaggle of five year old kids all running in a cluster around the ball, or else dreamily staring into the abyss as if the game in play was but a minor distraction to the clouds and aeroplanes, is more about them getting exercise and being adorable. Winning or losing may not play the most significant role in children’s sport, yet it is essential for them to understand that this concept exists, otherwise what’s the point in trying to master the impossible indian dribble? The Western Australian government has recently implemented a highly flawed and derided Outcomes Based Education syllabus for graduating high school students. It was touted as the solution to stress and self esteem problems, yet if these teenagers graduate dumber and less equipped to deal with the realities of life after school, then the solution is undeniably flawed. Teachers nationally decry the literary and numeracy tests for primary school kids. Pastoral care has become the by-word for independent schools who aim to build and nurture the entire child. If the system without doesn’t change to accommodate the gentle sensitivities of these coming generations, then we’re creating a fucking huge problem and not giving them the skills to rectify it. Furthermore, do we think so little of the intelligence and resilience of children these days that we have to coddle them into ineptitude?

We seem to be pandering more and more to children in a society that is getting older and older. From fish oil with special flavours, to hiding vegetables and giving kudos for effort rather than skill, whatever happened to the concept of just sucking it up and dealing with it? My brother taught me how to swallow mouthfuls of hated peas, and we would swap parts of broccoli so we ended up with the bits that we both found less objectionable. Neither of us is particularly the worse off for getting hit in the head by hockey balls, not getting straight As or sitting down to dinner replete with vegetables. Sure, he went through a phase of wearing dresses in uni, and I am riddled with mental issues which I can confidently say have nothing to do with my mother’s lack of ingenuity in hiding aubergine in chocolate mousse. Kids are kids, they scrape knees and punch each other out and prefer biscuits to brussel sprouts. Big fucking deal. We all muddle our way through and can harbour resentment and try and make the lives of our own children a beautiful gilded paradise. Then the gilt wears off, the reality is just as ugly, and they’re going to end up blaming us all anyway.

And on that heartwarming note, I’m off to make some notes myself; beans are not, after all, the only musical fruit.

(Image via Organic Cotton for Toys)