Posted on 04/06/2024 1:39:58 PM PDT by Twotone
Beth Widner is a mother who lives in Canton, a middle-class suburb of Atlanta, Georgia. She has four kids, whom she homeschools while her husband, Glenn, telecommutes.
In August of 2018, the Widner kids—then ages 13, 11, nine, and seven—were members of a swim team at their local YMCA, which was about two blocks from their house. One day, after swim practice, the 7-year-old, Jackson, lagged behind while the rest of his siblings walked home, and stopped by the grocery for a free cookie.
A store employee thought it was so unusual to see an unaccompanied 7-year-old that a store employee called 911. Then, instead of letting him leave, the employee told Jackson he had to wait for the police to arrive.
This became part of a pattern; indeed, Jackson's semi-independence attracted police attention on no fewer than three occasions, leading to two investigations by Child Protective Services (CPS).
Widner recently had the opportunity to share these experiences with the governor's office. (The meeting was arranged by the Reason Foundation, which publishes Reason, and Let Grow, the non-profit at which both of us work.) She hoped that her story would inspire support for a "Reasonable Childhood Independence" law in the state. Such laws establish that neglect occurs when parents put kids in obvious, serious danger, not anytime they let their kids out of sight.
We hope to see a law like that passed in Georgia sometime soon. Eight other states have already jumped on the bandwagon, and this year Michigan, Missouri, and New Hampshire will vote on similar bills.
When Jackson refused to tell the authorities where he lived—having been taught not to give such information to strangers—the police deduced he had been swimming and went to the YMCA to learn more. The cops were very cross with Jackson and informed him that being out and about without his parents was a serious infraction. He responded that he would promptly go home "if you would just leave me alone," his mother recalled later.
After the police finally brought Jackson home, they informed his father, Glenn, that it wasn't safe to let a child his age wander around outside.
"You just can't raise kids like that anymore—it isn't safe," said the cops.
Glenn begged to differ, reciting statistics that kids today face no greater risk from stranger danger than previous generations. Nevertheless, the police summoned child protective services.
A caseworker from Georgia's Division of Family and Child Services arrived a few hours later. She told the family, assembled together, that the police report stated that Jackson had been unattended from 8:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. The Widners set the record straight—swim practice had ended by 10:45 a.m., and everyone had been back at home well before lunch—and the caseworkers closed the investigation. She even said that her own kids could learn a bit more independence from the Widners, Beth recalled.
But that was not the end of things. Later that year, for Christmas, Jackson received a new bike. On January 2, just before lunch, he asked his mom if he could ride it and off he went. An older woman in the park stopped Jackson, telling him he was too young to ride his bike alone. According to Jackson, he took a few more circles around the park and then ducked into the grocery for—you guessed it—a free cookie.
Soon thereafter, Beth got a call from Jackson, using the new watch phone his parents had gotten him after the August incident. He said the police wanted to speak to her. Once again, cops had detained Jackson for being outside unsupervised.
Beth got to the grocery parking lot within a couple of minutes. She found Jackson seated like a suspect in the backseat of a cruiser. The complaining witness watched as the police let Beth take her son home. Beth wasn't told what to expect further, and she didn't hear from child services. But she later learned that child services had been informed about Jackson's flagrant act of unaccompanied bike riding.
On January 18, Jackson's unabated taste for free cookies turned into a full-blown investigation. While his parents had warned him that he should not indulge his sweet tooth (or independence) anymore, he went to the grocery store after a bike ride once again. As in August, a store employee called the police. The employee fed him chicken and fries—it was lunch time—to stall him until the cops arrived. The police then escorted Jackson home, bike and all. Glenn came to the door to hear what the cops had to say about his son, the cookie recidivist.
One of the police officers accused Glenn of "breaking the law" by letting Jackson go out alone. "What law is that?" Glenn inquired. The officer replied, "You can Google it." The most senior officer accused him of neglect and "contributing to delinquency of the minor," and told him not only could he be arrested, but he might face felony charges and spend time in jail.
A CPS caseworker showed up two hours later. Unlike the first one, who had complimented the family, this one accused the family of having "a problem with child supervision." When Beth and Glenn asked what specific law they had broken, she said she didn't have it written down.
The caseworker proceeded to question all four children at the kitchen table, then notified the Widners that they would be subject to a "parenting plan" requiring them to supervise the children at all times. The Widners told her that they would not be following the plan. Upon hearing this probably unusual response, the caseworker warned the Widners that she would talk to her supervisor.
After she left, the Widners never heard another word from her, although a few weeks later, two unidentified caseworkers stopped by the house asking to speak to Glenn. He wasn't home and they left.
The Widners realized their freedom to raise their kids as they saw fit was in danger. Fearful that they could land on Georgia's child abuse and neglect registry, Beth and Glenn decided to move the family outside city limits. Jackson, now 12, no longer worries about asking for a free cookie at the store.
But a state law that definitively puts the matter to rest—by stating unequivocally that the police should not harass parents who let their kids exercise some basic independence—could offer further protection.
Did you have a note with you, mine did when I was that age
I was a free range kid too. One time I went to the store for my mom. When I put the grocery bag down to get my bike a dog came up and stole the pack of hotdogs out of the bag. I thought my parents would be upset. They thought it was funny.
No, this was not the best of neighborhoods and it was in the big city.
But it was understood that life brought risk.
Another reason to elect a constitutional, pro-2nd amendment sheriff in your county. This sheriff will educate gestapo cops and perverts in child “protection” services not to harass citizens going about their lawful activities.
As a 16yo you needed your mom to check on your trip to the grocery store?!?
Fourteen and 15-year-olds can legally work, granted limited hours, at the local grocery store.
I think I usually had a note; this was in the late 50’s, early 60’s.
We could walk a couple blocks then turn the corner and walk another couple blocks to get candy at the drug store. When we got to the corner we RAN FAST because the corner building was a “beer joint”, and who knows what kind of monster(s) might walk out!!
Oh yeah it sure does. You either haven’t seen how intrusive HOAs can get or you’re on a Board.
The independent son graduated with a 4.33 GPA and served in Iraq/Kuwait with the USMC. All without the help of statist nannies and Karens reporting his every move to the police and CPS.
Yes she did. In front of about four friends, she told be to be careful crossing a somewhat busy street. I was the same age, 16!
That time is never coming back, and it’s impossible to go back to that place.
Statistically, it was worse back then than it is now.
Uncle Sam moved me and my family to San Diego. My two boys (14, 12) met friends who take public transportation everywhere (it's free for schoolchildren).
I relented at first because I was protective. And then I realized, the only way my kids are going to learn self-sufficiency and independence is if I throttle back on the leash.
Now I'll let my boys take the Coaster Train from San Diego to LA, grab a bite to eat, and come back.
Am I worried? Sure! But this is the world they're inheriting and they need to know how to navigate it.
I'd be doing them a disservice if I never allowed them to experience it. And they'll grow in to better men for it.
When I was about seven years old my father sent me to a local tavern with a one gallon type insulated drink jug ( with a spigot) and the waiting bartender filled it with draft beer.
My dad and next door neighbor sat out on our front porch and sipped beer and appeared to watch my brothers and some neighbor kids goof around on our front lawn
I remember one time as a young child when my mother took me to my aunt’s house. Then they left me alone in the house for several hours while they went shopping. No harm came of it.
My mother had a friend who lived in our apartment complex, and she had two young daughters. The toddler, Annie, one day took surreptitious sips from the friend’s Pina Colada that she had made. We all had a laugh at the story of that toddler starting to walk around with a bounce in her step. Nobody made a federal case of it.
I used to walk to school. .7 mile. I used to walk places. I picked up the groceries. Visited friends. Rode my bike.
That time is never coming back, and it’s impossible to go back to that place.
= = =
I would like to walk the train tracks, bike down to the river, stop at a friend’s house, ... like those days long age.
But today, I’d carry.
Nope, no note.
When I was a kid we lived in Montebello, Ca. about a 1/4 mile from the Rio Hondo River.
My brother and I (me about 5 or 6, my brother about 7 or 8) would spend all day on weekends and all summer down in the river bed, we knew if we heard the rumble to get out of the river bed because the rumble meant they opened the flood gates of the dam, it could happen any time.
It was great tactical experience escaping from Jerry’s Hispanic gang (yes we had them even back in the late 40”s/early 50’s), we would get to one of our locations that had limited access points and defend ourselves with stockpiled rocks, they would usually give up after short time and a few bruises.
We would outrun the freight trains across the Whittier trestle and if we couldn’t make it we would jump off into the sandbars below(about 15 foot drop).
We would catch buckets of crawdads to bring home for supper, fish for trout with hand lines, raid duck nests for eggs, hand catch bull frogs for frog legs.
We left the area in the late 50’s and my brother and I never went back until the late 70’s, yup, the river is all concrete now and has no wildlife whatsoever.
Weirdest thing was my brother and I went to Redondo Beach in the late 70’s to do some beach diving and decided to visit the old haunts on our way home, it was about 5 or 6 pm and we were standing on one of the new to us bridges.
Who walks up? JERRY with 3 of his boys with him, me and my brother figured we were dead men!
He stares at us for a few seconds and then yells “YOUR THOSE CHINGADA JAMES BOYS”, me and my brother KNEW WE WERE DEAD!
Jerry walks up to us with a big smile on his face and grabs our hands and gives us a big shake.
He then tells us we shouldn’t hang around this are very long because it’s a dangerous place for “pedejo gabachos” now days.
We talked “old times” for a few minutes the shook again and left.
BEING A KID IN THE OLD DAYS WAS FUN AND DANGEROUS AT THE SAME TIME, I guess Jerry would be the head GANGBANGER now but when we were kids it was still a game.
Played seriously, but still a game.
I must have missed where a HOA was even involved in anyway.
Let’s throw some guns in
the mix.
At twelve, in Jr high
my dad let me and my
brother join the gun
club sponsored by our
school. Mondays and
Thursdays saw us
sporting 20ga shotguns
on the bus (during dove
season), regular times
were .22’s. We’d do some
bird hunting on the walk
home from the bus stop.
We’d clean ‘em and present
to mom for dinner. Dipped
in cornmeal fried with
taters.
Good times back then, and
my, how they have changed.
We followed the rules of
no loaded weapons allowed
on the bus, and our pockets
we’re stuffed with the
shells.
I walked to the convenience store (for comic books and candy) and, if I could find someone to play with, played outside until the sun started going down or the other children went home, since I was an only child. But that was in the 1960s, in a town full of military and retired people. This little boy is in a suburb of Atlanta and is an easy size to snatch. Perhaps the police have gotten too many calls from frantic parents with missing children. I think these parents are idiots for not requiring their children to only go somewhere if someone will go with them.
I’ve also read plenty of old cases about children being kidnapped, abused, murdered or disappearing altogether from all the years people thought children were safe. You’re blessed you didn’t run into any of these monsters, as was I. I’m now seeing videos of children being grabbed from right next to their parents. If that doesn’t impress parents enough to take precautions, then they’re not facing reality and may pay a painfully high price some day.
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