Empty Nest Mummy

I’ve been thinking about parenting styles a lot recently. (Not sure if this is because of this blog or merely because I have sooooo much extra time on my hands now with Littlest Angel also being at school).

Specifically how the parenting style now compares to that of the 70s.

I’ve been thinking about this as we have been teaching both Big Boy (aged 6) and Littlest Angel (aged 4) to ride bikes.

Now, there’s something funny about teaching someone to ride a bike: everyone can ride a bike (well, nearly everyone can), but once you’ve learned how to do it, you have no idea how you learned. Learning to crawl? Learning to walk? They are natural skills, so however which way you teach it, the kid will learn it in their own time. But riding a bike isn’t a natural skill, it really does have to be taught – but how? How do we teach it now? And how did they do it in the 70s?

The modern day parent has so many tools at their fingertips that weren’t available to my mum when I was growing up some 40 years ago. I typed ‘Easy ways to teach a kid to ride a bike‘ into Google and a whole host of articles, tips and even videos came up. I watched the videos several times over and decided which of the various methods I was going to use. I planned where we were going to go, what protective gear they were going to wear, the whole thing.

And then I canvassed opinion from my parents.

“Just take them to the top of a big hill and let go”. Simple. Job done.

….so that’s how they did it in the 70s, or in the ‘olden days’ as we like to call it in our house.

The Sink or Swim school of parenting. Your kid needs to learn how to cross the road? Take them to the side of the road, point to the other side where they need to be, tell them to avoid the cars and let them go. (What could possibly go wrong?) Simple. Job done.

That got me to thinking about freedom.

When I was growing up in the ‘olden days’, also known as the 70s, we lived in a small hamlet about 2 miles from an ever-so-slightly-larger village. From the age of 4, I walked to school and back every day with my 6 year old sister. No high-vis jackets, no reflective strips on clothing, no pavements and no parents.

My parents had no idea what happened on the way to or from school as they couldn’t see us. And it was pre-mobile phones, so no emergency contact plan there. In fact, we didn’t even have a landline phone at home then. Had anything happened, who knows how long it would have been before our parents even realised!

Fast-forward to modern times and my 4 and 6 year old infants walk or scoot to school each day with me at their side, or right behind them. The furthest they can go from me is around 10 feet ahead to a prearranged point where they must stop and wait. When we get to a road, they don’t play dodge-the-car and leg it across like kids of the 70s. Nope, they stop, wait and make a human chain so we can all cross over together safely.

There’s not a minute on our journey that I can’t see the children – I have my eyes fixed on them the whole time. No need for an emergency contact plan! They’re not going to come to any harm under my ever-watchful beady eye!

And, speaking of harm, when we’re talking about parenting, you can’t not talk about discipline.

Now, at this point, I must admit that there is a lot of discipline in my house, very firm boundaries (writes Bossy Mummy). The children know what they are not allowed to do. If they do something wrong, they are given a gentle admonishment, then a final warning, then on the naughty step if the behaviour continues. The very worst that happens? They are left to sit on the step, in silence, to think about their actions. And maybe the crappy plastic toy they are arguing over is confiscated for the rest of the morning/afternoon/day.

Of course, discipline was a whole different beast in the 70s. We were given warnings, actually probably one warning. If you carried on misbehaving, you were hoiked by your arm to the corner of the room and left to stand there, staring at the wall, finger on lips.

Or, in our house, if your crime was a particularly bad one, you were warned that the wooden spoon would come out. (In modern times, this means that you’re going to do Baking With Mummy. In the 70s, it had a very different meaning. Just mention a wooden spoon to a child of the 70s and watch them crumble in sheer terror)

So, one minute, you’re pulling your sister around the room by her hair (just an example; I’m sure I never did that as I was, am and always will be a thoroughly delightful human being). The next minute, your skirt has been pulled up and you’re feeling the very hard sting of the wooden spoon on bare flesh. Your child’s naughty in the 70s? Give them a crack on the arse with a wooden spoon. Simple. Job done.

Discipline is one area where things have really changed since the 70s. A smack or a cuff to punish bad behaviour was entirely the norm when I was growing up; now if you see a child getting a smack from their parent, it’s very rare and feels truly shocking.

In fact, it looks like smacking, which is allowed currently in the UK, when it is for ‘reasonable punishment’, might well become illegal. Scotland is set to be the first UK nation to ban smacking, with Wales looking to be hot on its heels.

But, with the exception of the smacking issue, was the style of 70s parenting better than now?

My sisters and I certainly were given a whole lot more independence much earlier than I plan on giving it to my kids. And all four of us have survived our 70s upbringing. Despite being launched down a hill on a bike with no idea how to pedal or balance.  And despite all the distance we travelled without the watchful eye of our parents.

But what about my children? Am I doing them a disservice with my ever-watchful beady eye? Does the modern mum spend too much time researching the ‘how to….’, the ‘dangers of…’? Should we just take the kids to the top of a hill and let them go?

Am I a careful parent? A watchful parent? Or a neurotic parent?

What’s your parenting style? Drop me a line in the Comment section – I’d love to know how you do it!

(For more on my parenting decisions, see How I Handled My Fussy Eater. Or, How To Get Your Child ready to start Primary School)