The Right Way

by John Stratton
     Well, the other day we took our boat up to the head of a Connecticut River estuary and beached it on a small, low, not-too-muddy island to stretch out. On the other end of the sandbar were a dad and his two kids, about seven or eight years old. The kids were playing in the water, exploring, finding treasures, being brave. Their canoe was around the bend a bit.

     It was a peaceful Saturday. In the distance, the overgrown pastures were green, the old farmhouses were tucked away in trees. It could have been 1890, 1920, 1940, 1950.

     But not 1999, when most kids would be stashed in the back of the minivan headed for soccer practice or T-ball practice or Little League or some other Constructive Thing, carefully scheduled to fit in to a busy weekend.


     Not that there is anything wrong with skill-building activities. Yes, it is good for you, better than the TV diet. But that dad had the right idea. He took his kids on an independent adventure, a place they'd never been, and let them explore it by themselves, and learn a little more about who they were becoming on their own, with the illusion of being unsupervised.


     I left the island about when they did. They were off in their canoe, Dad in the stern, both kids in the bow with their own paddles, pulling smoothly, heading for home. A nice Saturday afternoon.


                                                                        Actaeon