“Can I have a drink?
I think I’m dehydrated.”
These words came, not from H after going for a long run then
mowing the lawn* in the July heat, but from my eight year-old after playing outside…for thirty
minutes.
If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard a kid use the word "dehydrated" in the last five years, I’d have that new Tory Burch bag I’m lusting after. But these are today’s kids.
They aren’t thirsty, they’re dehydrated.
They aren’t hungry, they have low blood sugar. With every physical discomfort is made into an emergency of
medical proportions; these kids lack the ability to be uncomfortable for even a
moment.
Back in 1982, I went to a day camp an hour’s bus ride away
on an unair-conditioned school bus.
Our only relief on the ride home, after a full day in the heat, was the
colored sugar water that came in those little plastic barrels with the foil
tops, that were not passed out to each child, but had to be fought for at the
camp cooler. And when they ran
out, they ran out. K’s job was to
save our seat on the bus, as I scratched and clawed half-shirt-exposed midriffs
and pulled ribbon-braid barrettes out of hair to attain our juice. My father would meet us at pick up and
my sister and I would stumble off the bus red-faced, limp from the heat, and
was met with…silence. There was no
whining about being hot. It was
summer of course it was hot!
Fast-forward thirty years or so as I pack four half-frozen bottles of water for the girls as they head to sports camp**, preparing themas if they are about to cross the Mojave. And no
long, hot bus ride for them. I
drive the forty-minute loop twice a day so they can ride home in the cool
comfort of the van and I also bring a
Ziploc bag with washcloths soaking in ice water for them to cool their lobster
faces upon pick up. A classic enabler.
We have to stop treating everything like a catastrophe and
allow our children to be hot, tired, thirsty and uncomfortable once in a while
so they can learn the difference between major and minor complaints. We spend so much time protecting our
children from every possible discomfort, they aren’t learning that despite a
blister on your foot, or sand in your bathing suit, you can still enjoy
yourself. My father tells stories
about going out to Coney Island as a kid with a towel and fifty cents for
French fries. No water, no
sunscreen. The subway ride home
was long and he was sunburned and thirsty, since he didn’t have money both the
fires and a drink. I think a child
of today’s generation would spontaneously combust in that situation.
I might be a sucker when it comes to camp, but I really am trying. On our various field trips this summer, my kids know a single “I’m hot” means an immediate exit and end to the fun. I also have new rule in the house, something has to be bothering you for an hour before you tell Mom about it. This stemmed from #1 reporting every minute ache and pain she might have. “My knee feels weird.” Um, I’m sorry? She has to learn that we all have weird aches and pains sometimes and you have to deal and, usually, they pass. At some point you have to progress from “Oh no!!!! Do you want me kiss it?” reaction. I think a sympathetic pat is appropriate.
I think it's time we all get a little
perspective. A paper cut does not need stitches, you fell off your bike, not out at 10th story window, and as I remind my kids as we set off for a day of summer fun, “You may be hot, hungry and thirsty at several points today, but you will not die.”
*But that would be assuming he does either of those things**Did I mention how camp is the summer version of school, turning me back in to a screaming harpy in the morning, and I hate every schedule-filled minute of it?
