Updated: Aug. 17, 2019
Originally Published: November 19, 2017
Growing up in the early ’80s, my childhood was filled with carefree afternoons spent outdoors with neighborhood friends. Sure, there were a few kids from my mom’s circle of teacher friends, and we would enjoy sunny summer days in our backyard, but most of my playtime revolved around the other kids in my neighborhood.
Now, I find myself living on a hillside, surrounded by a few acres of semi-rural land. Even if I lived in a bustling neighborhood, the reality wouldn’t be much different. Friends of mine in suburban settings face the same dilemma: we must schedule playdates for our kids to form friendships.
It feels inherently unfair to everyone involved. My child has a limited circle of friends compared to the vibrant group I had during my own childhood. Back then, it was common for a friendship to blossom simply because our parents were close, rather than needing a structured playdate to facilitate interaction.
The essence of childhood has shifted from spontaneous play with the kid next door to scheduled meet-ups, where we awkwardly engage in small talk while our children interact for a few hours. After these brief encounters, we return home, often across town, missing out on the natural connections that once flourished.
Reflecting on my own childhood, the most cherished moments were those evenings when the sky darkened, and the magic of hide-and-seek became truly thrilling in that perfect twilight glow. In the winter, snow would blanket the ground, and my friend from across the street would come over to play dolls in the cozy warmth of my room. We were inseparable, and our moms hardly needed to spend time together for us to forge those lifelong bonds.
I’m not suggesting there’s anything inherently wrong with today’s “playdate culture.” I understand that times have changed, and I don’t expect them to revert to the past. Yet, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness for my daughter, who is missing out on the close friendships I enjoyed. It often feels like my fault that she’s lacking those connections.
She doesn’t have lifelong friends because I don’t. This is a common sentiment among modern mothers. My friendships were rooted in proximity and spontaneous play, not in the necessity of scheduling. And that’s a poignant realization.
We no longer live in a world where children roam freely on bikes with a curfew of “before dark.” The world appears much scarier than it did in the ’80s. While it wasn’t perfect back then, the rise of the Internet has introduced us to a vast array of knowledge about crime and safety, making us more cautious about our surroundings. Unlike the vibrant styles of the ’80s, the concept of playdates seems to be here to stay.
As I watch my daughter playing with her little sister and reading to her dolls, I frequently feel a sense of regret. It feels like an uphill battle when my baby’s nap schedule doesn’t align with another mother’s, or when I pick my child up from school at a time that doesn’t coincide with her availability. Eventually, we just give up trying to make play happen.
I miss the idea of a gaggle of children playing freely in the backyard, while another mom watches from her home, without the need for a formal invitation. I sometimes wonder if my hillside living is to blame for this disconnect. However, conversations with other moms, even those in close-knit communities, reveal they, too, rely on playdates.
We all know families who live in those picturesque neighborhoods, leaving their doors unlocked and allowing their kids to bike down the street to friends’ houses. But for most of us, this is far from reality. Instead, we find ourselves discussing the appropriateness of wine during playdates or the logistics of visiting while a baby naps. “I have time from 2 to 4 on Tuesday, or after 10 on Wednesday,” we say, trying to coordinate amidst busy schedules.
The world has changed since my childhood, and my children’s experiences are vastly different as well. While I generally accept this, there are moments when I wish it were different. It feels unjust that I must become a social planner for my child to form friendships.
Nevertheless, I will continue trying. I will seek out other parents with kids of similar ages and push myself to connect with those I wouldn’t normally approach. I want my daughter, the social butterfly that she is, to have more opportunities to spread her wings. Yet, I also remind myself that her childhood is unique and doesn’t need to mirror my own.
She doesn’t know what she’s missing, and perhaps that’s the saddest truth of all.
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