I grew up in the 60’s in southern California. When I was 11 the new indoor mall came to town. It was wonderful. My best friend, Margie, and I loved going to the mall. One of our parents would drop us off in the late morning and we would spend all day trying on clothes that neither one of us could afford. We’d walk around, visiting and planning our futures together. The only money we really had with us was for chocolate stars we bought at the department store candy counter—this was in the day before food courts. But we always held back a dime so that we could call the other parent to come and pick us up when our adventure was over. We would then sit outside the mall together and wait for the familiar car to pull up and take us home. We felt safe and alive and very independent.
When we were 13 we would spend the summer days at the beach together. Again, one parent would drop us off at Life Guard Station #5. We’d place our towels on the sand, set up our transistor radio and start applying the baby oil or if we could afford it, cocoa butter! To this day the smell of cocoa takes me back to the beach with its sounds of seagulls and lapping waves. We never really went in the water much, except to cool off. Otherwise we soaked up all the sun, knowing that the first year’s burn would eventually bring an even tan. And each trip after that required less pain for our efforts. Our tasty treat for this adventure included either nachos or French fries from the portable snack shop on the beach. Again we held back our dime for the phone call and all too soon the time was gone and we would make the call and go back home to reality.
We never really connected with anyone else so we felt safe and secure both in our mall and beach environment. We people-watched and saw some interesting things. And yet I’m sure we had to use the restroom and go out into the water to cool down and therefore were separated from each other now and then.
Times have changed. I doubt you could even find a pay phone at the mall or the beach now-a-days, and if you did, it would probably require some sort of credit card to be used. One of the first most infamous child abductions occurred at a mall in the mid 70’s—Adam Walsh. He was younger than 11 years old, but I look back now and realize how innocent and vulnerable we really were.
The baby oil and cocoa butter that we remember so fondly has caused skin cancer for generations of people. Those sought-after sunburns have done the same. We were putting ourselves at risk and never really knew it. But there was a greater risk we were taking in those days, one that needs to be talked about, but is less known than the risk of abduction or skin cancer.
We spent nearly every weekend at each other’s home for sleepovers. We stayed up most of the night watching movies and talking and fell asleep into the wee hours of the morning and then slept in as long as we possibly could. That’s what young girls do, right?
Not anymore. Times have changed. In the course of the past 10 years, we have found out that in one of our safe LDS homes, a child molester resided and while both of us stayed safe, there were other children before and after our years of overnighters who did not. All along this person was parading as an active Priesthood holder. He had had a problem in his past and thought it was under control. But in reality, the abhorrent behavior returned because he thought he could control this on his own. He was too proud to report it to proper authorities and get the help he needed. Regardless of his options, our being in the home was a huge risk to us.
As much as baby oil being poured on white skin and 11-year olds roaming a busy mall without supervision, sleepovers need to be a thing of the past. Ecclesiastes 8:5 says, “And a wise man’s heart discerneth both time and judgment”. Parents need to be wise. We live in a different time. We can’t do what might have been done in the past. Time and judgment screams that parents need to be much more careful in today’s world. I’m not suggesting that we mistrust active Priesthood holders. But parents are responsible to keep their children safe and there is no way they can ensure their children’s safety in another person’s home. You can probably be assured that if a fire were to come, your children would get out safe. But believe me, you do not want to deal with the wounds caused by your children’s innocence being taken away. One way to safeguard them, is to make a rule that they no longer spend the night in a home other than your own.
So what can you do? Instead of sleepovers, make it a Cinderella party. Well, children under 10 can call it that, teenagers would be appalled with that title. I do remember in my youth, a general authority saying, “Nothing good happens after midnight”. I thought he was referring to dating circumstances, and he might have been. But now I take it literally. Have the fun of movies and snacks and stories and silly times. But when midnight comes, it’s time for everyone to return to his or her own home. It’s just the safest thing we need to do in these times. It’s not worth the risk to do otherwise.
We live in a day of recalls. When we are informed about the dangers of things we thought were safe, we stop using these products. Now you have been informed. Please, for the sake of your children, no more sleepovers. Don’t think it couldn’t happen to you. Believe me, you have no idea what the ramifications can be. Parents, please discern now and because of the times, use good judgment.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Oh What Do You Do In the Summertime?
When I was a young mother, we lived in California. I loved the summertime. I loved having my children home and the break from the school schedule and routine. I didn’t mind if they stayed up a little later than school days and slept in a little later than school mornings. I enjoyed trips to the beach, picnics in the park, and the longer days. But there was something that happened every Tuesday and every Friday that made summertime a little complicated.
It was the little truck that ran around the neighborhood soliciting children, playing music and expecting them (or me) to waste our money on icy treats. That’s right, the ice cream man! As my kids were young enough and I had never purchased anything from that truck, I told my children that he was a music man and was kind enough to serenade the neighborhood, and they believed me. Or at least, for a while that worked well. We would be inside completing chores and hear the “music man” and the kids would delight in his little song. They would even comment how nice he was, to just stop by and give us a musical treat for the day. Little did they know! Until one day when Grandpa was visiting and he heard the music and ran outside. The children quickly followed and when they came in the house, they all announced, “Mommy, Grandpa just bought ice cream from the music man!” My cover was blown!
Obviously, every day thereafter we had quite a different reaction to the “music man” coming around. The kids naturally wanted to get something. At first I let them use their money and they learned the hard way how quickly their money disappeared. When their money was gone, they begged for mine but I refused to pay 50 cents for a Popsicle that would cost a dime at the grocery store. At the same time, I was having trouble finding motivation for the children to practice their musical instruments, to continue reading through the summer and to get out and exercise. So that’s when I came up with an ingenious plan that worked for the next 10 years and had us all looking forward to summer for one more reason.
We started out by going to the grocery store and we chose four different boxes of ice cream treats. I had the kids sit down with the receipt and do the math—$1 divided by 12 Popsicles = 8 cents a Popsicle. Six drumstick ice creams bars for $2.25 came out to be 38 cents a treat. Much better than the 75 cents charged by the “music man”. On we went, doing the math, putting the individual cost on each box and putting the treats away in the freezer. I got a canning jar and put it out on the counter. Here were the rules: After chores were done, for one half hour of practicing piano/violin, or one half hour of reading or one half hour or exercise they were allowed to BUY a treat. They didn’t even have to ask. One treat per day. Just deposit the money in the jar. It worked really well. Chores were done early, books were being read and very little nagging needed for practicing or getting outside to get exercise. When the treats were almost gone, we would take our money from the jar, add it up (more math) to see how much money we had to spend for our next supply of treats and return to the store to get more. They looked for coupons to help their purchase and checked to see what ice cream novelties might be on sale to make their money go even further.
We all laughed together as the “music man” came around. One of the children made it a point to go out and check his prices, just to be able to brag a bit about what a bargain we had in our freezer! Once in a while if they were getting along really well, I would announce, Mom’s treat, have a free ice cream, and I would put the money into the jar so that it was there when we returned to the store.
This was a wonderful solution! In fact, it worked so well that we had friends visiting, bringing their money and asking, “Sister Stewart, can I buy a treat?” To which I would ask, “Have you practiced, exercised, or read today?” And they had. But first I called their mom to make sure it was okay they have the treat and also to explain why their child was paying for the treat! To this day, I wonder if their mothers thought I was a real tightwad! I really am, but in this case, I still feel it was a creative way to resolve a problem and motivate children to get things done.
My children are all grown and have children of their own. There don’t seem to be “music men” in their neighborhoods, so they may not incorporate the same solution in their homes. But they all remember with fondness our days in southern California with the “music man”.
It was the little truck that ran around the neighborhood soliciting children, playing music and expecting them (or me) to waste our money on icy treats. That’s right, the ice cream man! As my kids were young enough and I had never purchased anything from that truck, I told my children that he was a music man and was kind enough to serenade the neighborhood, and they believed me. Or at least, for a while that worked well. We would be inside completing chores and hear the “music man” and the kids would delight in his little song. They would even comment how nice he was, to just stop by and give us a musical treat for the day. Little did they know! Until one day when Grandpa was visiting and he heard the music and ran outside. The children quickly followed and when they came in the house, they all announced, “Mommy, Grandpa just bought ice cream from the music man!” My cover was blown!
Obviously, every day thereafter we had quite a different reaction to the “music man” coming around. The kids naturally wanted to get something. At first I let them use their money and they learned the hard way how quickly their money disappeared. When their money was gone, they begged for mine but I refused to pay 50 cents for a Popsicle that would cost a dime at the grocery store. At the same time, I was having trouble finding motivation for the children to practice their musical instruments, to continue reading through the summer and to get out and exercise. So that’s when I came up with an ingenious plan that worked for the next 10 years and had us all looking forward to summer for one more reason.
We started out by going to the grocery store and we chose four different boxes of ice cream treats. I had the kids sit down with the receipt and do the math—$1 divided by 12 Popsicles = 8 cents a Popsicle. Six drumstick ice creams bars for $2.25 came out to be 38 cents a treat. Much better than the 75 cents charged by the “music man”. On we went, doing the math, putting the individual cost on each box and putting the treats away in the freezer. I got a canning jar and put it out on the counter. Here were the rules: After chores were done, for one half hour of practicing piano/violin, or one half hour of reading or one half hour or exercise they were allowed to BUY a treat. They didn’t even have to ask. One treat per day. Just deposit the money in the jar. It worked really well. Chores were done early, books were being read and very little nagging needed for practicing or getting outside to get exercise. When the treats were almost gone, we would take our money from the jar, add it up (more math) to see how much money we had to spend for our next supply of treats and return to the store to get more. They looked for coupons to help their purchase and checked to see what ice cream novelties might be on sale to make their money go even further.
We all laughed together as the “music man” came around. One of the children made it a point to go out and check his prices, just to be able to brag a bit about what a bargain we had in our freezer! Once in a while if they were getting along really well, I would announce, Mom’s treat, have a free ice cream, and I would put the money into the jar so that it was there when we returned to the store.
This was a wonderful solution! In fact, it worked so well that we had friends visiting, bringing their money and asking, “Sister Stewart, can I buy a treat?” To which I would ask, “Have you practiced, exercised, or read today?” And they had. But first I called their mom to make sure it was okay they have the treat and also to explain why their child was paying for the treat! To this day, I wonder if their mothers thought I was a real tightwad! I really am, but in this case, I still feel it was a creative way to resolve a problem and motivate children to get things done.
My children are all grown and have children of their own. There don’t seem to be “music men” in their neighborhoods, so they may not incorporate the same solution in their homes. But they all remember with fondness our days in southern California with the “music man”.
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