There
are two ways to help someone with their child-rearing. You can offer
advice or help when it’s needed, and if it’s rejected you can
accept that. Or you can decide that your way is right and their way
is wrong, and feel that righting that wrong is the most important
thing. I have had a lot of help and advice from friends and family
through pregnancy and all the years that followed. Sometimes I took
it and sometimes I didn’t and they respected that.
One
thing my friends and family don’t question is the way I dress and
treat my children. I’ve brought all my boys up with long hair. I
get rather sick of the gender expectations placed on children – the
ranks of pink and blue clothing and toys; the constant either/or with
no in between. Sometimes, because of their hair, people have thought
my boys were girls. Angelic long blonde hair is instinctively
perceived to be feminine, and mistakes are made.
What I
find harder to deal with are the intrusive comments of strangers. ‘I
think you need a haircut.’ ‘You should go to the barber.’
Sometimes this is just from people on the street. Sometimes from shop
employees, who should really know better. My eldest’s grandparents
were once told that he would grow up gay if they let him keep his
hair long, which pulls two misconceptions together – one, that hair
length is related to sexual orientation, and two, that it would be a
bad thing if he were to be gay.
Then
you get the other comments. Often my children don’t wear shoes –
especially whilst in the pushchair. What’s the point of putting
shoes on a child that isn’t walking? That one’s a constant draw
of, ‘Your feet will get cold!’; ‘Ohh, where are your shoes?’;
‘Have you lost your shoes?’ When they’ve been seen holding a
Sindy doll they get, ‘You’re a boy, you don’t want to be
playing with a doll!’ And my husband has been told more that once,
‘don’t use long words like that, he won’t understand.’ (Being
a man seems to draw more comments from old ladies on how you raise
your children.)
There
isn’t any way in which comments like that are helpful.
Most of
these comments came when we lived in a larger seaside town, rife with
pensioners and uneducated people, and I spent a lot of time wandering
around the place with my children. They came in charity shops and
Asda, mostly, whatever that may say about those places. Since moving
to a rather smaller town and spending a lot less time wandering it
doesn’t happen nearly so often. Now we live in a residential street
and mostly encounter other people on the school run or in the
playground.
Now the
interference becomes far more closeted and sinister. Living in a nice
residential street in a nice area seemed like a big step up from a
flat in a big town. We have a front door that opens straight onto the
garden. We have a sandpit and plants and a herb bed. We have our own
walls and floors to do what we like with, and front and back gardens
to enjoy. But we also have neighbours. We have some lovely
neighbours, some neighbours we barely interact with, some neighbours
we barely see. Having grown up with neighbours who all get on
together and share ups and downs, and having lived in a flat with
wonderful neighbours who felt like family – an adopted grandfather
and an adopted sister – I find it a bit strange to live in a street
where half the neighbours are almost invisible.
I’ve
debated for a long time whether to blog about the issues we’ve had
in our new home. I’m not sure if it’s advisable or not, but I
think it needs saying. Other people may be suffering the same kind of
problem. There are a lot of very nice people where we live, a lot of
people who will help at the drop of a hat and are good friends. Then
there are the others. The ones who like to say things behind their
hands, to gossip and criticise without even an intention of helping.
The sly comments and oblique criticisms of, it seems, anyone who is
different. The drawback of living in a rather smaller community is
that there seems to be an uneasy balance between the anonymity of a
large place and the over-the-fence gossip of a small one. People seem
to think they can comment on your life without commenting to
you.
For two
years we have been subjected to anonymous calls to the health
authorities and council about how we live our lives. This sprung out
of the fact that when Ben was born he was making noise in the night,
and then spiralled out of control. Perhaps it was affected by the
fact that I am very introverted and have trouble talking to friends,
let alone mere acquaintances. Our poor health visitor has to call us
apologetically and relate these things to us, in the full knowledge
that we look after our children very well. Criticisms have ranged
through shoelessness, unhygienic playspaces, noise, bullying at
school, lack of outdoor activity, and playing on the windowsill. This
person has accused us of cruelty to our dog, and gone as far as
posting an anonymous newspaper clipping through the door while they
knew we were away with highlights accusing us of laziness and animal
cruelty. Of course we know who is doing this, and we have had the
police involved, but it makes it no less pleasant to experience.
The
craziness in all of this is that there is no neglect or cruelty; that
any initial issues of noise were dealt with immediately; that my
children are very healthy and very happy, as is our dog and both
cats. They (the children, that is) are often praised for their
politeness and consideration. They are doing well at school. We try
to live our life in a way that doesn’t impact on other people, but
I refuse to conform to convention just so that we look ‘right’ to
other people. I won’t cut my lawn until I want it cut (I do love
the lawn flowers and grass seed heads). I won’t cut my children’s
hair because someone wants it short. I won’t force them to wear
shoes if they don’t want to, or a coat if they don’t want to.
They’re quite capable of telling when they’re too cold and asking
for more on, just as I’m capable of judging if they need me to take
over their decisions.
Why
post this here? Since seeing another friend blog about a similar kindof anonymous interference, I think it’s important to get these
things out in the open. How does one defend oneself against
anonymity? I would say, be honest with the authorities. Speak openly
with your doctor or health visitor. Trust them and let them trust
you. Defend yourself where you can. Know that you’re better than
that, that you’re doing fine, that your children are well looked
after and perfectly happy. I reassure myself by thinking that no
matter how mad I am (depressed, eccentric, sensitive), I am better
than the kind of person who has to resort to anonymous harassment. If
you’re a good parent, be proud of it.
As
parents we’re forgetful and disorganised. We lose things. We get
stressed and sometimes lose our tempers. But we do our best. Our
children are not neglected, unhealthy, or unhappy. Temporarily bare
feet, tangled hair, dirty hands and faces are a sign of enjoying the
world. I will be proud of the fact that my children bring home
reports that praise their kindness and pleasantness, that they are
given awards for smiling and being a friend. I will be proud that
they are intelligent and individual and that they are growing up
healthy and happy. I will be proud that they love books and science
and history and art. I will be proud of the fact that they will enter
the adult world thinking for themselves, whatever they choose to be.
If you are a good parent, you should be too.
