The Lost Boys (and Girls)

I read an interesting article last night (thanks for the link, Jeanne!) that articulated a lot of my thoughts lately. It also reminded me of Neal A. Maxwell’s June 1995 address at BYU called “The Bitter Harvest,” wherein he talked about all the ways in which our society has drifted from “traditional values” (which are now—thankfully—outlined in the Proclamation) and what the fruits that drifting has produced. It’s heartbreaking, really, especially all the fatherlessness. Think about what a cycle it produces—boys with no role models, girls with no male attention who seek it in the wrong places and end up as single mothers, raising yet another generation of fatherless children. The word “lost” just echoes through my mind over and over again. These kids are lost, wandering, wondering. A sample:

Statistically speaking, of course, few latchkey children grow up to be murderers. Yet beneath the public anxiety provoked by every such savage who takes the stage, beneath even the ritual media cycle that follows the recorded-for-television atrocities, lies an element of unspoken truth about the link between these adolescent outcasts and the rest of society. This is the fear shared by much of the adult world that perhaps the kids aren’t all right after all — that perhaps the decades-long experiment in leaving more and more of them to fend for themselves, whether for the sake of material betterment, career fulfillment, marital satisfaction, or other deep adult desires, has finally run amok. What troubles the public mind about these killers is not that they seem anomalous, but precisely that they might be emblematic. And the reason for this apprehension is essentially correct — in important ways, their lives have been indistinguishable from those of many other American children. Most, in virtue of their times, are part of the same trend that has been building for decades now throughout American society — the trend of leaving children increasingly to their own and their peers’ devices, bereft of adult, and particularly parental, attention.

I also love her explanation of the “cultural code of silence” about children really needing their mothers. And I would add, not just as babies, but as middle-schoolers—maybe even more so as middle schoolers!

I was kinda proud of this sentence: “The reality of the situation, as David Gelernter observed in Commentary four years ago, is that ‘Except for a few benighted precincts (the Mormon church, parts of the Orthodox Jewish community, parts of the Christian Right), society from Left to Right is lined up in force behind the idea of mothers taking jobs.’” Yay, benighted precincts.

And this statement sums of so much of what women are doing when they work outside the home: “Hochschild observes that for many women, ‘The emotional magnets beneath home and workplace are in the process of being reversed.’… for many women (and men), [office life] partially or fully supplants the hearth, offering simpler emotional involvements, more solvable tasks, and often a more companionable and appreciative class of people than those waiting at home.” Duh. This is exactly what happened to me when I quit my job to be with Addie. All my shiny dreams of motherhood faded and it was hard—much harder than my desk job, and certainly more thankless. But, for me, infinitely more rewarding.

Why? Well, with most people, I don’t have to defend my decision to stay home with my girls. Some days I have to defend it to myself, but it only takes about an hour away from then for me to know I simply cannot be away for a workday. Perhaps I am a little more emotional that the average mom, but from the moment I held Addie and wouldn’t let the nurse take her away, I have been attached to my kids. I thought I should return to my job, but I just couldn’t do it. I kept telling myself we needed the money, but my heart wouldn’t let me go. So we had to scrimp and save and sacrifice and even go bankrupt to make it work, but all the THINGS I had to do away with can be replaced. Addie’s babyhood can’t be replaced. My love and my memories can’t be replaced. As much as I have struggled with the isolation, the humbling craziness, the numbing sleepless of stay-at-home-mothering, I could never give it up. If I am going to be held responsible for these girls and what they become, then I am going to raise them hands-on!

“The connection between empty homes on today’s scale and childhood problems on today’s scale cannot possibly be dismissed as a coincidence. For some time, the data have been there for all to see, the dots fairly demanding to be connected.”

My girls will be surrounded by lonely, virtually abandoned kids. I hope I give them all the security they need, and enough to share. Enough so that they can rise above the sadness and desperation their generation will be drowning in.

I mean, my generation—we children of divorce, the first generation after The Revolution—thought we had it bad (“Americans born and raised in the 1970s and 1980s were three to four times more likely to commit suicide as people that age had been at mid-century.”)! The little broken hearts have multiplied exponentially and the expressions of that hurt have grown increasingly violent and disturbing. I hope their mommies (and daddies) will listen—are the houses and cars and vacations worth the price your babies are paying?

It’s hard to stay home. But it’s even harder to watch your child suffer because of your absence---at least I hope it’s harder. If it’s not, as this article concludes, “what we are in for next may be worse than anyone has guessed.”


Addendum: May I just add that some people are just not good mothers and can't handle their kids; in this case, perhaps their children are in better hands in day care. It's sad, but true. Lots of girls my age weren't raised to be mothers and consequently are unprepared for the demands. They return to work, and, although it's not the ideal situation, their kids are probably better off. I just had to admit that one little thing.