BY KRISTA RAMSEY
The Cincinnati Enquirer
It is a tragic but well-known fact that we often only learn things the hard way.
A spring full of school shootings is proof of it. Suddenly we have "discovered" the turmoil and pain of American adolescents. Finally we are jarred into wondering what goes on inside them, these children who, at any other time, we would have happily left anonymous.
The extreme cases, the violent ones, have caught our attention. But behind them stands the body of American children and young people who are not violent, not cruel or irresponsible.
But hurting nonetheless.
I have seen the pain in American children for a long time now, as a teacher and education writer. Some are angry. Some lonely. Many feel powerless to deal with the complexities of their home life and world.
They are silent victims of the American lifestyle, one that tears up relationships, idolizes achievement, deifies objects, broadcasts violence and hurries children into adulthood.
American children understand competition all too well, but have little idea of community. They know they are supposed to get ahead, but rare are the discussions that teach them what selfless things true success and accomplishment are.
They know what affairs are -- from the nightly news -- but "family" is an increasingly vague term. They have been told that hard work is the key to everything worthwhile in life, but "play" -- unscheduled, self-made entertainment -- is almost non-existent in their world. These are painful things for adults to consider, because they indict us all.
A need to be known
One of the great ironies is that, through research, we know more quantifiable information about children than ever before. But we know far less about individual children. Kids today grow up anonymously. The eternal truth for a child, however, is that he needs nothing so much as to be known.
So suck it up. We have little time to know anyone any more, least of all our kids and besides we've forgotten how. Moves are frequent, extended families distant, and our priorities become whatever makes it on the family scheduling board. As adults, we have cavalier attitudes about affiliations with religious bodies and neighborhoods. What we fail to recognize is, as we become disconnected from everything, our children do as well.
True of others but not of us? Then consider how well we know our own nieces and nephews -- as well as our own aunts and uncles knew us? And let us ask ourselves when is the last time we had anything resembling a "family night," or cooked dinner together, or took a long walk and listened to our kids?
Our children's teachers, pediatricians, soccer coaches and psychologists would love to let us in on a secret: Our kids miss us. Terribly.
Teens and stress
A few years back I wrote an article on teen-agers and stress. I smugly thought I knew the causes. Not drugs and sex, as some knee-jerk observers would predict, but college entrance, and job-and-school demands, and the pressure to perform.
Not so at all. What flowed immediately out of the teen-agers' mouths -- and produced lumps in their throats and tears in their eyes -- was their troubled or non-existent family lives. One boy could barely talk about the fact that his father never made it to his baseball games. A girl was furious her parents' social and professional commitments meant they never sat down for dinner as a family. Another wondered what had happened to the parents who hung on her every word as a child -- but now could barely find 15 minutes for her.
They were disappointed. Disappointed in us. Not because we could not buy them high-priced sneakers or Ivy League educations. Not because we hadn't made it to the top of our own professions. But because, just when life got tougher, we had emotionally walked out the door.
They knew us. Painfully well. Now, after a spring of difficult realizations, they must wonder if we are ready to know them as well. Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm Street, Cincinnati 45202.
Krista Ramsey's column appears on Saturdays. Write her at the Enquirer, 312 Elm St. Cincinnati 45202.
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