Generation H2O

“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?