Scamper
– yes, scamper – that’s the word I was searching for.
The little Indio children were playing tag in a maze of mangrove
roots, and I was looking for the perfect verb to describe their
dexterity and speed as they chased each other. They were not running
and they were not leaping - they were … scampering. And what made
their game even more amazing, was the fact that they were doing this
with bare feet.
While
viewing this exquisite scene, in which raw Nature was their
playground, how could I not contrast it with the “children’s
recreation areas” of the so-called First World. Among the tangled
branches and roots of this authentic jungle gym, there were many
sharp spikes that taught them a valuable lesson. These kids learned
to play with joy and abandon, but to also pay attention.
I
marveled at the stark difference between this playground, which was
literally growing out of the Earth and the Sea, and the plastic,
rounded-edges, garishly-bright, child-safe playgrounds of El Norte.
Once again, my beloved Archipelago of Bliss, with its primitive
wisdom, seemed to offer better life lessons than the advanced
societies.
A
few days later, I was anchored near a lovely sailboat with a family
of four on-board. They had two beautiful and energetic girl
children, who also liked to scamper. I never saw them playing tag in
a mangrove obstacle course, but I did frequently witness them
playing with Indio kids. The parents would work on boat projects,
and every once in a while they would look ashore to check on their
daughters and their new friends as they frolicked on the beach. Even
though these youngsters were from two different worlds, they could
amuse themselves for hours with just a coconut and a stick.
Communication was not a problem, since laughter is a universal
language.
Along
with these halcyon shore-side idylls, this family also did tough
ocean passages, where they were far from land for weeks at a time.
Life at sea in a small sailboat can be difficult and dangerous.
Monotony, sea-sickness and fear can sometimes slip aboard. But these
hardships forged confidence and character. The girls learned that
life is not safe – it is hazardous. But more importantly, they
experienced the deep joy that comes from facing their anxieties - and
defeating them.
I
have met hundreds of “cruising kids” in my decades as a sea
gypsy, and almost every one of them has been enjoyable and
extraordinary. Their daily existence is so free-form and
spontaneous. These Children of the Wind, as I like to call them,
interact with all ages and types of people in many different
environments.
It
is starkly different from how modern kids are raised in the so-called
Real World. Structured and supervised activities are the norm “back
there.” The concept of Helicopter Kids, who have parents hovering
over them at almost all times, so that they are shielded from any
possible harm or accident, is laughable in the cruising fleet. But
many sea gypsy parents believe that this excessive pampering, this
attempt to eliminate the bumps and bruises that help kids relate to
others and to the world, isn’t funny at all – it’s tragic.
Indeed,
that is why they have removed their family from that “bubble-wrap”
concept of raising children. The extra effort that it takes to
home-school their kids, seems a small price to pay for the prospect
of a child whose creativity and uniqueness is not suffocated by the
educational industrial complex. That monolith has now become so
restrictive, that there are many schools where the students are no
longer allowed to play tag in the schoolyard - much less in a
mangrove labyrinth.
Often,
when I sit and chat with cruising parents, the issue of “screen
time” comes up. Because we sailors live so close to the wonders
and whims of our ocean planet, we recognize that humans evolved as
outdoor creatures and not as high-tech, urban hipsters. We
understand in our core biology, the value of Yellow Light from the
Sun. And we grok at a deep level, the danger of Blue Light from the
Screen. You almost never see a group of cruising kids hypnotized by
smart phones. But you will witness them catching fish together and
snorkeling together and savoring the Huckleberry Finn joys of outdoor
life.
*******
My
reflections on the Indio kids led directly to my thoughts about
cruising kids. It then seemed like something within my brain was
urging me to extend that analysis one level further. For a couple of
days, that next stage eluded me. And then I realized that I could
not make the connection because it was right in front of me - and so
obvious.
The
first generation of these bubble-wrapped, helicopter kids had now
made it to college. The soul-crushing sadness that I have
experienced in observing the evolution of the modern university, made
sense in a tragic way. If you excessively pamper and coddle young
people, they are far more likely to feel adrift and rudderless when
they leave the world of mini-vans and soccer practice and
participation trophies.
Suddenly,
panic sets in and they need “safe spaces” and “trigger
warnings” and they must be shielded from any ideas that are
different from their own biases. Socrates would spin in his grave if
he knew that higher education was no longer an environment where
students cherish the prospect of being exposed to information that
challenges their beliefs. And he would spin even faster if he
learned that logic and evidence were now subservient to political
correctness and snowflake feelings.
*******
One
of the books on the required reading list when I was in college, was
the black-humor, anti-war novel, Catch-22. There was a
character in it named Orr. In chapter after chapter he was subtly
trying to convince the hero that there was a method of escaping the
lunacy of their situation. Ultimately, he fails to do so, but he
does manage to liberate himself.
I
know Orr’s sense of frustration, because often in my essays I have
tried to inspire my readers that the sea gypsy life is an achievable,
affordable option to the insanity that is spreading and
metastasizing. My approach consistently strives to be measured and
calm, but sometimes I just want to scream:
Flee
- FLEE – FLEE TO THE SEA!
