Free Range parenting used to be called "Childhood"

Free Range parenting benefits in my life called “childhood”

Ponds 

The Isaac (sp) Walton League pond had more mud than water, realized when taking a pony into it, having to walk us both out through the mud, and having to find another to attempt to wash off the mud before returning home. Was not a good outcome with my mom?

You cannot patch a farmer’s old boat full of holes with cardboard and take it out into the water, my friends and I tried, and the farmer probably wondered where the boat went after sinking it to the bottom.

Was not a pond, though sneaking into the Baptist church on a hot summer day and discovering the baptismal pool made for a great cool off from the heat – did not worry about any note to church to clean the pool before using it again. 

Navigating 

Become a very good navigator through farm pasture gates far off the road, much like a series of winding roads far from view unless the farmers had very good eyes. 

Learning the alley ways in the city to a precision where you could out run truant officers – most the time. Only one faulty run when they held back and tracked me to a residence and gave a free ride back to school, the phone call to my mom – not such a good addition. 

My dad could find me in a heartbeat when he had no idea which direction I went. Great radar he had and at times not appreciated. 

Awkward moments

Visiting some friends who lived in the country and had pet mice and accidently letting the mice out (thank goodness the pony was good at getting out of there before their Dad came home).

Going with my to be sister-n-law out to a country ditch to clean up the remains of a party after my brother left his identification in the mess.

Agreeing to ride a half mule for the day without a saddle, would not recommend at any age.

Stomping fallen mulberries in the backyard while your Dad stood there and just said “not a good idea.” What did he know I could just wash it off, or not. Another not so good mom moment. 

OMG moments

Watching my Dad chase after my brother up the basement stairs and catching his toe on the new wood, he had just put on the steps. In addition, ripping his toenail off. My brother kept running. Note: Never chase a child when it could bring you harm. Forgot that note many times when chasing my own, including running out the front door and planting both feet in a bike lock loop and going down the steps (quick broken toe) or having a child roll out of the way when attempting to strike her rear and realizing a lack of padding between carpet and concrete – quick finger jam. 

Having your mom walk you home when you are five from school in the Winter telling you not to run on the snow and ice – looking back to see her spread eagle on the road from ice and being told not to laugh. Too late, laughing profusely and really running like hell. Did not turn out to be a good mom moment either.

Playing around on a dirt road in your mother’s view with a pony making it rear up – going straight off the back with a pony coming down to sit between your legs. Never saw my mom run before and she expressed how she did not appreciate the play, did not turn out to be a good mom moment either, 

Having to give in my request of your Dad to allow your future sister-n-law sit on your pony while he was eating. Jumped up behind and kicked him three times  and sent her over the head. Not a good Dad moment – but worth the punishment. 

Free-range parenting taught values you could not learn from continual instruction. Not always pleasant, sometimes challenging to the danger zone, though you learned to think and live to be more responsible from your own mistakes and I am not sure that ever stops. I never claimed to be a saint and was not the best at finding understanding without experiencing for myself. Still find this to be the true teacher. My brother called me the brat until I was sixteen, he was right.