Jumping like Jack, my 4-year-old nephew slipped and hit his mouth on the center table yesterday. That hurt, bloody hurt. After the blood had stopped gushing, his lips swelled the size twice his original. But he couldn't stop crying.
The crying didn't last for all eternity, though. As soon as the pain subsided, the crying turned to whimper and the whimper turned to silence.
Finally, the adults turned to the other boy, the 2-year-old saying: "Kuka, wawa, Kuka!" The younger boy hugged and kissed the injured. "Mamerman CD, Kuka? CD Kuka, Mamerman?"
Peter Parker came to life. For the nth time. And the jumping and howling resumed. Oh, KIDS!!!
I came home to see the still ugly swell on the lips of the 4-year-old who carried on like the fish pout wasn't there. He gobbled up Jollibee Ube Ice Craze with a vengeance.
After dinner, Nanay and I got to share that dishwashing moment talk. She was complaining about the boys' hyperactivity attacks. Oh how different we were as kids!
And I go, "'Nay, times have changed. We've moved to a house in a subdivision so divided squarely there isn't room to grow."
I reminded her of the old house located at the end of the earth where our playground was as far and wide as the eyes could see. That regardless of the season, we, kids, had paradise for playground. At pre-planting time there were trees we could climb and skin our knees and elbows with. There were mango trees that gave unrestricted radius of shade under which we could spread mats on to sleep in the sfternoon. At planting time, we had watersheds and patubig along rice fields to bathe and fish in. At harvest time, we had wide beds of haystack we could jump up and down, roll on and on, and build playhouses with.
There were endless things to do outside we were dead to the world when we came home. Those times, children slept through TV shows.
The boys have too much energy in them, there is not enough space to fling them to.
Today, in lieu of real space, kids are sent to virtual worlds, without leaving the house, butt stuck on the seat infront of a Mac. On weekends, they go to malls with artificial playground with artificial animals and artificial trees. The tiled playground won't skin their knees; the rubbered floors won't break the shells. But you pay too much for the simplest things that are supposed to be free. The children are kept captive when they are supposed to be outside, are covered when they are supposed to be outdoors.
Thus, the kids meet accidents at home. Too much fire on a too wet wood.