Playground Rules

A friend and I were talking today about how we’ve lost a lot of our filters these days. I must admit, I’ve gotten much more straightforward with my kids about how the world is, rather than the sweet-hearted mom conversations I used to strive to have. This is dangerous, in part because I’ve never been a particularly disciplined person so I’ve gotten probably a little too blunt with them.

This morning we took a rare trip to a park (aside from our little school playground). By now, the girls are well-versed in wearing masks if other children are nearby, giving space to kids playing, and generally being respectful of the fact that if they are not safe on the playground, we will have to leave. Incorporating Covid restrictions has been pretty seamless since we already had rules like not pushing past other kids and being careful not to knock over the littles. They get it. We live in a crowded area. Other people will use public spaces, just like we do. Respect that or leave.

So, at this park, there were three or four other families, each doing the same, keeping themselves to themselves, enjoying the fresh air and lack of rain. All of a sudden, a father and son came running up, ebullient, and began to run through the playground. They weren’t wearing masks, which would have been fine if they had just chosen one area to use and let others distance themselves, but they didn’t. They ran through every part of the playground playing their game of tag.

On the one hand, it was a joy to see two people enjoying themselves so much. On the other, a chill came over the area. Children who have internalized new safety rules had to move out of their way. Willow just gave up and went over to the swings. Rowan came to sit on a bench with me. Magnolia moved to the outskirts of the playground. It was subtle, but every other kid had to adjust they way they played.

For ten minutes, we watched these two people running around joyfully, while everyone else tried to avoid them. Eventually, they moved onto somewhere else, and the rest of the kids got back to their playing. At snack time, the girls expressed some disbelief that the father had allowed such a thing.

“We know toddlers can’t wear masks, but that kid was at least six!”
”And the dad was running around with him!”
”They pushed past me to go down the slide!”
”It was so unfair! No one could play while they were here!”

In the past, the before times, I probably would have said something like, “Yes, but they’re gone now, so no harm done, right?” But as I mentioned before, my filters are off. So instead I said, “Yes, it is unfair. But that kid is not being taught to look around and see how all the other kids are sad. So someday, he’ll get married and his partner will be sad and he won’t even notice what he did wrong or know how to fix it. Which is more unfair? Ten minutes of lost playing or a life of not noticing?”

That’s the no-filter Serenity, all right. Of course the conversation moved on and my kids then talked about how maybe they notice other people’s distress, but when it comes to their sisters, they usually choose not to care, deciding to annoy each other anyway. (It’s true. They bicker all day long and it’s driving me all up the wall.)

But that’s a choice they’re making and it got me to thinking. The first step to compassion and consideration is noticing there’s a problem. You can’t choose to act if you don’t know you need to. Can I be honest? It’s hard for me to stop my own life for long enough to look around and see other people struggling. I’m too busy running around, having fun (or, more likely, checking things off my to-do list, which is my version of fun.)

And the price for not noticing comes to those around me that I’m not helping. But it also comes to me. Because if I neglect those around me, I become lonely and I don’t even know why. They’re sins of omission. All I did was fail to call. Or fail to ask. Or fail to consider. And all of a sudden everyone knows that when I’m around, their life is more difficult.

This noticing thing has become even more important in a time when there are no agreed-upon rules. We’re all navigating complicated situations and many of us are struggling with either too much or too little to do. So, on the other side, I think we need to make our needs clear as well. We need to tell our friends that we need a shoulder to cry on. Or a skype call between their kids and ours so we can have a break. Or even just a text to help us remember that it really is going to be okay. Those moments of awkwardness are worth a strengthened friendship.

My filters are lower now than they’ve ever been. Which is not great when it comes to pandemic parenting, but it also means I’m better at apologizing, setting boundaries and generally being the authentic person I’ve always wanted to be. Maybe that’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for in all this.