Word of the Day: Road
(Another shot from near the park before the fireworks.)
I can count with two fingers the number of times I hit Liam while he was growing up.
The first time, he was just under two. We had set out from the house for a stroll about town, one of those patented strolls where going one block can take a half hour considering how many fascinating sights there might be, or how many front stoops there are to climb along the way. It seemed normal to take an hour to hike the two blocks over to the post office for the mail (no house delivery in that town). Years later, when an old timer at the college retired, he observed to me that seeing me wander around town with a toddler as though we had all the time in the world always made him relax. I had never liked the old fellow much until that moment. Before the city folk moved in with their leash laws, the town sported some giant dogs who wandered the streets and joined us on our strolls, especially at night. That particular day, we reached the end of the block and were (sort of) heading over the Town Run, a little stream which passed right through the middle of town and which allowed for hours and hours (and more hours) of picking up pebbles and throwing them in the water. That activity was such a hit among the two year old set that I wondered how there could possibly be any pebbles left on the bank.
We approached the curb. I told Liam to stop and wait. He did. But then he stuck one foot out and defiantly put it in the road and without thinking, I hauled off and slapped him. He looked at me. I looked at him. We were both somewhat stunned. Then he burst into tears and there was no pebble tossing that day as we returned to the house and digested the moment.
I’ve heard the claim several times that it’s been proven that hitting your child “doesn’t work.” The generation that was regularly beaten tells its stories with more than a hint of pride, but it’s hard to say if they are better human beings from those experiences. I can say that Liam never defiantly stepped off any more curbs…and perhaps as a consequence he lived to adulthood without being hit by a car. I can also say that to this day I still read in bed past my bedtime, so the whipping for which I ceremoniously presented my mother with my own belt most decidedly did not work to alter my late night reading behavior, even in the short term. I just got better at hiding it.
We have a similar story. Except our son, about the same age, decided to run down through grandma's yard, through the neighbor's yard behind her and across the road to that house before we caught him. Needless to say, we found out it's possible to hug and spank at the same time. But, he never ran away from us again.
@summerfield no, he was a random kiddo, just waiting to the cross the street. We were standing on the opposite corner and I was practicing composing (and focusing, argh) from the hip. I have another shot of him and those girls in the background running across the street when the light changed.
I have three children and ive never hit them, id rather get them to think. Roads are scary and living close to a town it can be terrifying, but finding people with their own scare stories, or those who have been hit by vehicals is easy. I simply introduced them to Miranda a friend of mine who had a horrific road accident a few years back and it crushed her ankle. let the scars speak for themselves,, dont hide children from the truth, lead them gently and let them find the way.
Love this street photo. Great contrast and composition. I am your get-pushed partner ( sorry for being late). You have such a great variety of photos and styles. How about a photo based on the theme looking through. Sound good?
