Lost Cause: Why do My Children Lose Everything?

Emily Bazelon:

ere must be a hidden graveyard for them or a coach who picks them up after practice and cuts them up to make leather jackets. Two Fridays ago, we had four soccer balls: two for 8-year-old Eli to practice with; a slightly smaller one for his younger brother, Simon; and a special, pristine ball that Eli's teammates in Washington, D.C., signed for him when he left the team last summer because we were moving to a new city. Last Friday, five minutes before Simon's soccer practice, we had only one ball. The unblemished one with the signatures. Understandably, Eli didn't want Simon to take it to practice. But where had all the other ones gone? Neither of my boys knew. I tore around the house and the garage. Well, actually, Eli allowed, one or maybe two of the balls had somehow failed to make it home from practice the previous week. What to do now? Fume.

"Lose something every day. Accept the fluster/ of lost door keys, the hour badly spent./ The art of losing isn't hard to master," poet Elizabeth Bishop wrote. Yet I can't accept the fluster. My children's penchant for leaving their belongings strewn behind them--a long tail of balls and toys and lunchboxes and socks and shoes and sweatshirts--makes me fear that they are heedless prima donnas who will never be ready for the responsibilities of adulthood. And then, of course, I'm forced to concede that I seem to have raised them to be this way. The ritual of losing things makes me wonder about the line between taking good care of your kids and impossibly coddling them. Have middle-class American parents like us forever blurred the distinction?

Posted by Jim Zellmer at October 1, 2008 10:33 AM
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