Confessions of a Latch Key Kid

My oldest daughter is in 7^th grade. Often, I hear grown-ups complaining that children in today's generation grow up too fast. But by comparison to my 7^th grade, growing up in Houston, my daughter's living the life of an overly chaperoned Jane Austen character.

I was a latch-key kid in middle school and I loved every minute of it. After we got off the school bus, my friend Lynda and I would walk up to the U-Totem. We would play pinball for awhile, then walk home, usually eating a candy bar and drinking a Dr. Pepper. As we walked around the neighborhood, we saw kids we knew. Sometimes we would say hi, other times—when cute boys were involved—we would wait to see if they would say anything. Everyone in our neighborhood went to the same school.

We hardly ever had homework, so we had a lot of free time on our hands.

As we got older, a couple of times we played Spin the Bottle with some neighborhood boys. Or Spin the Comb, or whatever spin-able object that we had on hand. The first alcoholic beverage that I remember drinking was a mixture of Nesbitt's orange soda and some whiskey pilfered from my parents' bar. Lynda was with me, and neither of us knew anything about making a mixed drink.

We also smoked a "Texas-sized" cigar, which Lynda had purchased at a local amusement park called Astroworld. In the summer between 7^th and 8^th grade, we had season passes to Astroworld. One of our parents would drop us off in the morning, then another pick us up at night. We would wait just outside the gates.

There is very little in the above narrative that I would let my child do today. I even cringe at the simultaneous Dr. Pepper and candy bar (think of the sugar!). As a parent, I'm happy she's safe. But looking through the lens of a 13-year-old, I feel bad for her, because she's missing out on a lot of fun.

I can't imagine her having the opportunity at any time in the near future to play "Spin the Bottle," for instance. The events she attends are over populated by parents. Yet, as these children's exterior world has been restricted, they are meeting electronically.

The other day, my daughter said a boy in her class asked her friend for her phone number. "That's silly," I thought, "He could find it in the school directory." It wasn't until later that it occurred to me. It was her cell number that he wanted—a fact that she confirmed. Because of our need to always keep tabs on our children, they are all equipped with cell phones. Now, apparently, they are using the phones to have secret conversations, text, and, in later years, plan spontaneous parties.

Good for them for doing something sneaky.

Astro world circa 1978: Candy cigarettes, new friends, and the Texas Cyclone.