By Lori Borgman
Knight Ridder Newspapers
(KRT)
They're not being deprived of food, shelter and clothing. Nor
are they being deprived of toys, computer games and television. Kids are being
deprived of boundaries.
One of the joys of coming of age used to be pushing against the
boundaries. The delight of inching toward adulthood was nudging your toe right
up against the big black lines that bellowed, "No, not yet, wait just a few
years longer." Now, for many, the lines have faded, and the boundaries have
fallen.
Boundaries are an integral part of the paradox of freedom and
form. Freedom and form continually jockey for power. That balance of power
effects everything we do. As a nation, we have a multitude of laws (and manage
to add to them every day) that give us form as a republic. As individuals, we
have a multitude of freedoms we may exercise within that form. Should our
freedom lead us beyond the form, we are likely to get a speeding ticket, a call
from an IRS agent, or an invitation to do time in the local lock-up.
The form to a marriage is outlined by faithfulness, respect and
monogamy. When excessive freedom causes a husband or wife to crash through that
form, the results are predictably painful.
There is also a balance of freedom and form to parenting.
Ideally, parents outline the form, delineate the boundaries of right and wrong,
acceptable and unacceptable, and allow children the freedom to play, create,
imagine and mature within that form.
An example of freedom and form out of sync would be the child
with minimal parental supervision, unrestricted access to television, movies and
music, a penchant for disrespect and a rancid vocabulary that is laughed at
instead of purged.
An example of freedom and form tied in knots would be the
mother on a talk show boasting that she encourages her 15-year-old daughter to
have her boyfriend for overnight visits rather than go to a sleazy motel.
The mother prattles on, proud of her permissiveness, while the
girl sits there looking hard, hurt and trance-like. A vivid picture of freedom
without form.
Perhaps the most poignant example of what happens when we
practice all-freedom-all-the-time would be the three, four, seven statistic.
Today, nearly three out of 10 white babies are born to single mothers; four out
of 10 Hispanic babies are born to single mothers; and seven out of 10 black
babies are born to single mothers. Three, four and seven children will deprived
of any form resembling a father. This lack of form puts those three, four and
seven at greater risk for ... well, you know the risks.
We've all heard them so many times, we can recite them in
unison.
If this were a boxing match between freedom and form, a
ringside announcer would be screaming that form is flat on the floor with both
eyes swollen shut, a cauliflower ear and a bloody nose. Freedom, the announcer
would shout, is dancing circles, ready to thrust a gloved fist in the air and
declare victory.
But freedom and form aren't opponents. They are more like
allies constantly striving for a delicate and diplomatic balance.
Freedom without the restraint of form is costly. It costs us as
a country, as a culture, as a community, as couples and as families.
Resurrecting form begins with creating boundaries.
Boundaries start with simple things like bedtimes, curfews,
expectations for behavior, standards for entertainment and a few hot button
issues parents are willing to take a stand on.
If we continue erasing all the boundaries, kids won't be the
only ones deprived.
© 2003, Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service
Distributed by Knight Ridder/Tribune Information Services.
