Playing in/around the street

How it started, and how it’s going.

It all started with my 1.5 year-old being mobile enough to play in the street. One minute, this kid is rolling around on a blanket, content to watch me make silly faces while the wind makes the tree leaves shimmer and wave at us like 1000 tiny hands. Then, faster than the changing seasons, this kid is walking right for the middle of the intersection. (And if I were to wax observant, her “walking” is more like Frankenstein…if he hinged slightly forward at the waist and allowed the weight of his head to pull him forward….and basically fell forwards and caught himself by taking the next step over and over and over. And if it’s downhill, she’s also vocalizing so that the impact of each footstep (footstomp?) jolts her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Her vocalizations broadcast this rhythm “doydoydoygoygoy” as she runs.

The driveway and street are A) outdoors and B) where other children are. It’s a win for us and a win for kiddo. Our lawn is the size of a king-size bed. She was most definitely going to be playing in the street. Cars, with their tendency to be very many times larger than my child, kept my nerves on end. Especially during my earliest availability for outdoor play, which is around 5:15pm. This is also the time when basically everyone commuting from their 9-5 completes the last leg of their journeys home. In other words, heavy traffic. Despite my earnest efforts to hover over her, I quickly accepted that It wasn’t sustainable to run into the road and snatch her up each time a car came down the road.

I could do my best to protect her, but the true protection would come from her knowing how to protect herself.

(This story does not end the way you would think)

So I set to work training my little explorer. I decided to focus on the sounds of the cars first. If she can hear them coming, I reasoned, she’ll have more time to get herself to safety. Just waiting till she saw the vehicle was a gamble, since she can only look in one direction at once, and cars are the least interesting thing out there. (More interesting? Rocks on the ground, lawn ornaments, the picture of the dog on the sign above the HOA’s community trash can…)

Luckily she’s of the age and disposition to be captivated with anything I pretend is interesting. (Maybe everything is interesting, and she’s at the age to know it. And when I say I’m pretending, the joke may be on me. Maybe I lost my grip on the inherent wonderfulness of all things and every thing).

I’d gasp when I heard the cars half a block away, and make a big show of looking for them. Then another big show of celebrating when the source of the sound I heard finally came into view. “Oh! Do you hear that!? Whoa. It sounds….like a car? Do you hear that? Oh! Look! Over there! It’s a car! We heard it coming and then we saw it! A car! Quick, get out of the way!”

I needed to be physically close to her for this routine to hook her. Too much distance, and the recycle bins and seasonal lawn flags became the object of her attention. This was fine though, since the proximity gave me a chance to grab her by the hand (or shirt collar, or tricycle) and keep her stationary till the car had passed. A few cars later, this routine morphed ever so slightly, from us witnessing cars in stillness to her trying to wriggle free from my protective clutches. Toddlers are KING WIGGLERS. My grasp of her was no match. She wriggled free and gave me a heart attack most of the times.

And so I evolved. We heard the cars! We froze and tracked them with our eyes! We called out “CAAARRRR!” so all the kids in the street would know. And then I crouched down behind her and cocooned her body in mine. My thighs like thick bumpers on either side of her hips. My arms, wide and long, a warm loving restraint. Our faces practically cheek to cheek, I could smell her sweet little head as we watched the car pass by. There was no wriggling for her, no thought of escape. Just a surprise bear hug and relatively absolute safety until the motor vehicle had driven away.

I was satisfied with myself, and my adaptation to changing conditions in my quest to keep my daughter safe while she played in the road. Of course, my satisfaction with myself was short lived. A few days later, she was playing a little far away. Too far for for me to reach her by the time the car she heard had entered our sights. (And, let’s be real, I was probably looking at my phone for a few seconds too long). She called, along with the other children, “Car!”

I looked up and saw her move from the middle of the street towards the curb. Feeling optimistic about our practice over the last few days, I continued to observe.

She turned to face the car. Good spatial awareness, I thought.

She lowered her pouffy diaper butt down to the ground. She raised her arms to the sides for balance, and then wrapped herself in a big bear hug.

She is a hockey puck. I thought to myself. She’s the height of a tire and the cars won’t see her and she’ll definitely get run over.

I dashed over to her, signaling like a citizen crossing guard to the car, using my face and my gestures to communicate SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. As I scooped her and began to instruct her on “NOT IN THE STREET! CAR MEANS SIDEWALK!” it dawned on me that she did what she’d seen me do all those days before. My words were nothing compared to my example. (Yeah yeah, everyone tells you this about becoming a parent. It’s not that I didn’t believe them. I just thought it was going to manifest in a slightly cuter way. For example, maybe we could have both crossed our legs the same way when seated, or maybe we could have been caught sleeping in the same odd position. I never once hoped that my errant example would lead to her curling up like an egg in the road in the middle of rush-hour traffic.

So anyways, this story was going to lead to all the other amazing things that she hears, now that her listening is pretty darn acute. But I’ll save that for another post. Instead, I’ll share that now, I have her stop and starfish her hands out and up, so that she’s as visible as possible. Which I have to do too, so that she learns. When both of us (or the three of us, if my wife joins the walk) are striking this stance, we end up looking pretty goofy. But you won’t catch me slipping! And kiddo seems to enjoy it, for now.

This side-show, this unexpected commotion from the safety of the sidewalk, will sometimes catch the eye of those commuters. I give a small wave so that they know I’m not hailing them down. But I keep my movements dramatic. I like to think that making explicitly visible the teaching of this behavior will also impact the people driving, and gently remind them of the little learning bodies with which they share the road.