FAMILY PLAN? FARM THE KIDS OUT FOR PEACE AND QUIET

For most, a family plan is making sure the kids are alright. Planned pregnancies and Tiger Mom tactics? What’s that?

My parents had four kids and we always lived across from a sand dune and a forest. Smart move. When they said go out and play, we knew where to go.

Forest play was more fun than playgrounds and parks in North Bend, Oregon. That stuff lasts a lifetime, which isn’t alway appreciated by those from more urban environments.

Take my wife. Please.

Growing up in Los Angeles doesn’t mean everyone lives under an LAX flight path, but her school had that honor. Teachers had to pause lessons throughout the day because of the sound of commercial jets low overhead.

With that to look forward to every day, she walked to school on the mean streets of Lennox. The bonus was deciding early to abandon LA for Oregon, or anyplace that wasn’t LA.

I had sand dunes and woods instead of sidewalks. That doesn’t make me better, or anyone else raised in North Bend better, than a big city kid. Here’s why:

There’s always someone from a smaller town than the small town you grew up in who thinks your town qualifies you as a ‘City Boy.’ It’s not a compliment.

Go back a few generations and learn about the shame people felt when they moved into town from their version of Hell’s Half Acre out of town. Or hear about it now.

Farmed Out To Grandma’s? Thank You

When I was a child my family would travel up I-5 to where my parents came from. Sometimes they’d stay a couple of days, then leave one of us behind. I was the one.

I was dropped off, unloaded, dumped, by my family. Looking back, those were the best days of my childhood. Instead of being cramped in a car with two brothers I saw every day, I had wide open spaces, a Grandma, an Aunt and Uncle, and two cousins on acres of land between Vader and Ryderwood.

Their family plan was creating a strong foundation for life.

With the cousins I learned what happens when you pee on an electric fence, how to ride cows, and how not to punch a cousin. We’d been to town one day where I bought a model of a B-29 bomber. The cousin my age did something, or said something, or maybe it was me. Either way, I punched him.

Warning: Do not punch cousins. He had an older brother, but things didn’t escalate. I got talked to, then some mild shunning, which was hard on the older cousin because he and I were going to put my B-29 together. He let me know I was wrong to punch his brother, then we got on with the model.

Lesson learned: Don’t be the a-hole guest.

When my children were young I took them up to see the place, and shoot guns. We stopped by to see my aunt who showed the boys what marksmanship with a rifle was all about.

My Family Plan In The Woods

One common tradition among families is stopping in to say hello. After one visit to Central Oregon with my wife and kids, we headed back over Mt. Hood early.

Along the way the kids got restless and wife got annoyed. So we stopped. Instead of a taking a break on the side of the road, I detoured up a logging road half a mile away from Hwy 97.

Wife: I just want to take a quiet walk in the woods. ALONE.

She got out of the car, crossed the grassy boundary, and disappeared in the forest while the rest of us stood in the gravel road.

Me: There goes your momma. See that sign? Watch this.

A metal square warning sign on a steel post stood a short throw from the car. I picked up a rock, pretended to warm up my arm, and winged it. To my surprise I hit the sign with a louder than expected bang.

As a cautious, what my wife call fearful, approach to wildlife in the woods, I knew to avoid surprising animals. The loud sign let them all know we were in the neighborhood. Then the boys cut loose with their rocks. Before too long we were nailing that sign time after time, louder and louder.

My wife came out of the woods a little further down from the place she started and yelled at us to stop. I pretended she invited us to join her.

No Invite, Still Going

Wife: What are you doing? I’m having a quiet time.

Me: We’ll be quiet.

We walked together a few minutes. I spotted a dead tree about a foot and a half in diameter.

Me: Do you know why they call me King Of The Woods?

Wife: No one calls you king of the woods.

Kids: Why, dad?

Me: Here’s why.

I walked up to the tree and gave it a hard push. The damn tree fell over, wife didn’t like it.

Wife: Great. Now you’re teaching them to push trees over? Are you going to push every tree over?

Kids: Wow, dad.

Since two out of three approved, I channeled my earlier woods play. We walked along the steep hillside and found another tree down. It was lifted off the ground, so I walked up.

Me: Are woods more fun than a playground? You can’t do this on any playground.

I worked my way through the branches until I was about fifteen feet off the ground. A smaller tree stood a few feet from me. I jumped from the downed tree to the small tree. It bent from the weight and slowly landed me in front of the boys. I stuck the landing and raised my arms.

Me: Who’s next? Honey?

Wife: Oh. My. God. No.

Me: Boys?

My oldest walked up the downed tree and made the jump. But he was too light to make it bend and I helped him get down.

As a kid I looked forward to getting dumped on grandmas. It prepared my wings for when I flew the coop later, and helped with a family plan. If it’s a writer’s job to understand things, early experience helped me understand why some people embrace a wider world, and some are content not to.

It works both ways. Leave similar stories on comments, if you have one.