Opinion: Remembering old days, in context

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I grew up on them. They were the first thing I learned to make in the kitchen. That and a glass of milk. Microwaves hadn’t been invented yet.

Playing basketball on a dirt patch in our back yard. That’s where I learned to dribble and shoot with one hand.

And football in our front yard. When no one else was around, I’d take the hike from an imaginary center, drop back and throw to the trees, believing that I was the star quarterback for the Arkansas Razorbacks, the only college team that mattered in the universe I grew up in.

Those were simpler days, when television was three channels, phones hung on walls and were often shared as “party lines” among neighbors, and suppertime was family time. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, my father came home whistling, and my brothers sometimes picked on me, but that was OK, because sometimes I picked back.

As a white boy from a middle-class household, I was insulated from other, harsher realities that other kids were going through. But sometimes those differences made their way into our schools, and into my world.

I remember that shortly after elementary school, while in “junior high,” there was a boy who looked more like a girl. Big hips and a sort of a feminine disposition. The other boys laughed at him, and I felt bad for him. He was taunted, snickered at, and he had no friends. I remember being afraid to be his friend, afraid that I too would be laughed at. But I didn’t make fun of him, and I’d talked to him. I could tell he wanted so badly to be my friend.

I remember the day a bully pushed him too far and he fought back. In the hallway. Blood everywhere, as the bully got the best of him. I stood there and did nothing. I’ve never really forgiven myself for that.

Maybe he was transgender; I don’t even know if that word existed back then. It certainly didn’t in our little world. Nowadays, kids — at least more kids — know better than to pick on people who are different. God, I hope so. At least I raised my children that way.

Now, the world is even more complicated for kids.

Sometimes they can’t play outside because it’s too dangerous. Sometimes, they’re simply left on their own; stay-at-home moms aren’t so common anymore. And many of them are hurting and confused; we were too, but on a different level somehow.

The classroom is only part of what makes a school. Socialization is perhaps a bigger part of the experience. Parents have to realize that, just as we need to remember our own upbringing, lest we lose sight of what’s really going on in our children’s development.

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich isn’t right for everyone. There’s no one-size-fits-all anymore — and that’s a good thing.

Let’s treat our kids as if each one of them has a unique contribution to make in this complicated and confusing world in which we live, because that’s as real as it gets.

Tom McDonald is editor of the New Mexico Community News Exchange. Contact him at:

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