You called out from your side of the fence separating our yards. Even though my family had settled into our home for over a year, I wouldn’t have recognized you if we crossed paths at the grocery store. You never extended a warm welcome to our family or even inquired about my children’s names. Our only prior exchange was your unsolicited advice about adding mulch to my garden beds. Well, thanks for that.
And now, our second encounter. You asked me to hush my kids, expressing that you and your husband couldn’t enjoy your wine due to their noise and were forced to retreat indoors. I was taken aback; I apologized quickly and ushered my children inside, on a bright, sunny May afternoon at 5 p.m. In an instant, they erupted into tears.
My protective instincts kicked in, and I felt compelled to respond. I marched back outside, channeling my inner Mama Bear, and shared with you how your request affected my kids. With heat rising to my cheeks and my ponytail coming undone, I told you I wouldn’t silence them. You remarked that their noise was bothersome, and I countered, “But they’re just kids!”
You then delivered your final word, Mommy to Mommy, recounting how, years ago, when your own children got too loud, you simply shushed them with a finger to your lips. Why couldn’t I do the same? “Children need to learn to behave,” you insisted.
I tried explaining that my kids can indeed behave in restaurants, sit through Sunday Mass, and even endure the entire reading of the Passion without a peep. They are kind, respectful, and thoughtful in school, but you looked at me skeptically, clearly doubting that my lively trio could ever exhibit good behavior. The truth is, they are extraordinary, empathetic souls. But here’s the reality: They’re not tiny adults. They’re children, and part of nurturing their spirited nature is allowing them to be loud, to get dirty, to be wild. To be free.
However, my reasoning fell on deaf ears, and we remained divided by the fence.
In the days that followed our altercation, I felt anxious. I worried constantly about the noise levels from my kids, and they began to second-guess themselves. We were all downcast. But then I observed them playing. I listened to their games, songs, and laughter. Here’s what you missed, neighbor, as the sound of their joy drove you indoors:
- They found a bumblebee nesting in our swing set. Though all three are afraid of bees, they called for me, concerned that the bee might be trapped and in danger. It was a pivotal moment for them, and they needed assistance.
- After realizing the bee was safe, they swung high and sang a song about the life of a bumblebee, joyously harmonizing while sharing bee facts. My daughter, aware of the declining bee population, repeatedly sang, “Don’t pick the dandelions.”
- My youngest had a meltdown because I denied her candy. I embraced her and let her process her feelings, which she eventually did.
- With their 6-year-old friend, they turned the swings into an operations base for their imaginative game, “Whales,” reenacting the real-life Operation Breakthrough that freed gray whales in Alaska back in 1988. Tensions rose when our 150-pound St. Bernard made a surprise appearance as the Bull Shark.
- My middle child sang for a solid 15 minutes while swinging. She’s gaining confidence, and even though she was off-key, she felt like a star.
- We assembled goodie bags at the picnic table while the kids played with plastic flutes, merrily tooting away. It was far from a concert, but it was filled with happiness.
We have noise rules in our household. I don’t allow them outside too early in the morning, even though they’d love to be out at 6 a.m. I respect your peace. If they start bickering or become too loud, I bring them inside for a timeout. I don’t expect you to endure their occasional squabbles. However, I do expect them to have the freedom to play in their own backyard—and I expect you to respect that.
When you told my kids to quiet down and labeled them annoying, their spirits were crushed. You asked them to stop singing, laughing, and yelling. To stop being children. And for a moment, I found myself sympathizing with your perspective.
I’m sorry that you can’t enjoy your wine in the way you’d prefer. Perhaps it’s time for you to reconsider whether a family-centric cul-de-sac is the right environment for you. Childhood is messy, boisterous, and beautifully imperfect, and that doesn’t make me a bad parent. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way. In a world rife with troubling news about school shootings, bullying, and violence, I encourage my children to embrace their youth for as long as they can.
This article was originally published on May 13, 2015.