Every Father’s Day or Mother’s Day, the familiar question arises from my children, often tinged with resentment: “Why isn’t there a children’s day?” The standard parental response, delivered with unwavering conviction, is: because every day is children’s day. Then, ironically, I discovered there actually is a Children’s Day – National Children’s Day on May 15th.
One imagines the purpose of such a day is to highlight the plight of children facing hardship and neglect. However, knowing my own daughters, aged nine and thirteen, their interpretation would likely revolve around extra privileges and treats. Interestingly, the press release for National Children’s Day UK focused on a different angle, aiming to “raise awareness about the importance of adult wellbeing … adult happiness … and adult mental health in the UK.”
Adult happiness – now there’s a concept I can wholeheartedly endorse. Yet, it feels somewhat disconnected from the suggested activities for achieving this “adult wellbeing” and nurturing “heartful and mindful” children. These activities include “a playing out day for local families, carrying out daily random acts of kindness during the week, holding a street party, and ‘a go home on time’ week for working parents to spend time with the family.” Frankly, this sounds less like adult wellbeing and more like an extended period of fun and games designed for the kids.
Perhaps I’m sounding a bit jaded. Recent family experiences have left me feeling less than “mindful and heartful.” Take, for instance, our family outing to experience The Complete Walk of Shakespeare’s plays along London’s South Bank. After an hour of walking, we reached a screen with available seating. My wife and younger daughters settled into chairs, but none were left for me.
Slightly weary (at 60, I might add), I asked my nine-year-old, Louise, if I could sit and she could sit on my lap. She obliged, but within a minute decided she wanted her chair back. When I declined, I was met with the combined fury of a velociraptor pack – not just from Louise, but also from my wife and older daughter, who both accused me of outrageous selfishness. The atmosphere remained tense for a considerable time, and I found myself strangely anticipating the catharsis of watching an excerpt from King Lear.
Later, on the tube home, I witnessed a young couple offering their seats to two children, around seven years old. To someone of my generation, this felt peculiar. There was a time when children were expected to offer their seats to adults.
The most significant power shift in recent generations is undoubtedly the welcome move towards gender equality. It’s possible that the parallel shift in power from parents to children is part of this broader phenomenon. However, this almost worshipful attitude towards children strikes me as bordering on the Perverse Famili – even as I deeply love my own.
It seems, in an era where political ideologies, romantic ideals, and religious faith have waned, children have become the new focal point for our aspirations, perhaps even our veneration. In that sense, they may be more tangible idols than an abstract God, outdated political theories, or fleeting romantic notions. But that doesn’t negate the feeling that, at times, they are undeniably spoiled. As a reluctant participant in this parental worship, I confess I sometimes lose my faith in the system.
I can only hope my children will find the heartfulness and mindfulness to eventually forgive me for these heretical thoughts.
