My Children of Privilege

Alice Drown
June 4, 2016

If there's one thing I've learned in my career as a children's therapist, it's that my kids are children of privilege.  Their nightly dinners, and merely their lives, have been served to them on nothing less than a silver platter every single day.

They sleep in beds with clean sheets and plenty of warmth.  Each morning they dress themselves in clothes laid out the night before, maybe wrinkled, but clean and free of holes and stains.  They arrive at school each day on time, with teeth that are brushed, and clean faces, and combed hair.  They return home to a house, maybe not always spotless, but full of entertaining toys, media and activities.  When they flip the light switch on, there’s no concern or worry that the light will indeed turn on.  They fill themselves with fresh, nutritious (sometimes) food, at their own free will, at the beginning, and at the end of the month- just maybe not always right before dinner. 

My kids are delivered to every sports game closely surrounded by a gallery of spectators, with voices loud enough to clear a room every time they score a goal or hit a ball.  They attend birthday parties, and school concerts, and achievement nights.  They are exposed to and taught to appreciate art, and good music, and literature, and science, and math, and religion, and nature, and history, and creativity.  They spend evenings watching family TV and Disney movies, and mornings eating peanut butter toast, cereal with teaspoons of sugar on top, and sipping orange juice from a glass with animated figures on the front. 

My children are cherished and adored by their grandparents, and aunts, and uncles.  They receive cards on their birthdays in the mail, and eat turkey and mashed potatoes with pools of gravy at large tables on holidays.  They are surrounded by a community of like-minded friends and families who engage them in play, and conversation, and unconditional support throughout their days, and weeks and months of growing up.

They spend winters sledding, and ice skating, and building snowmen in the yard.  They wear waterproof boots and gloves, and snow pants, and warm knit hats.  They come into a house that is warm and well lit, and sip hot chocolate with marshmallows swirling around the top.  They spend summers at the lake, smothered in sunscreen, and surrounded by other kids.  Or at the park, with adults who push them on the swings, or cheer for them as they slide down the slide.  They have transportation to near museums, and libraries, and community events. 

My kids have traveled to near states, to visit family, or camp, or stay in a hotel room.  They have enjoyed the pleasure of choosing from a menu of food cooked for them at a restaurant, and at their parents’ dismay, at home on some nights, too.   They have been taught table manners, and to say please, and thank you, and how to use a fork, or wipe their own face.  They know how to set a table, and take care of their dishes.

When they are sick, my kids go to the doctor, and are given medicine and plenty of rest.  When they are well, my kids sit at the kitchen table with their homework and a parent or two over their shoulder.  When they are sad, my kids are allowed to cry, and are consoled and validated in their feelings.  When they are angry, they are allowed and taught to express themselves in healthy ways.  When my kids argue with their peers, there is an adult standing by them, helping them to work it out.  They are given the opportunity to take ownership for their own mistakes, and have learned that there is, indeed, a very large amount of forgiveness and understanding in this world. 

They have been raised to know that there is minimal shame and responsibility in being a child.  They are not involved in challenging adult situations, or forced to be more independent than they are capable of.  They are not an annoying distraction in their parent’s lives, instead their parent’s lives are sometimes an annoying distraction in their inner world of exploration and self-discovery.  The adults that they're surrounded by are merely symbols of safety and security, who set limits and reasonable expectations, and who have never hurt them or caused them any fear.  They are generally able to trust the people around them, and believe that the world is a safe and compassionate place. 

My kids come from a culture of people who value education, and learning, and knowledge.  They’ve known how to read since they were 6 years old.  They’ve learned how to think critically, and to express themselves well, and respect the perspective and accomplishments of others. 

My children have enjoyed arts and crafts, and funny movies, and legos, and barbies.  They have taken swimming lessons, and watched parades, and have rode the carousel at the fair.  They have been read to, maybe not every day, but on most days.  They’ve also been talked to- with curious questions answered at the best of their parents’ ability, sometimes with harsh details left out.  They’ve been tucked in each night at a reasonable hour, with stuffed animals, and fluffy pillows, and are wakened in the morning by an obnoxious alarm clock or a nagging adult. 

My children have been blessed with good examples. The adults in their lives communicate well, and use proper speech and clarity when talking.  The grown-ups are generally happy, and able to manage their stress most of the time.  They express themselves in pro-social ways, with some arguments and disagreements, but also with affection, devotion and a well-developed sense of character.  My children have been around a wide variety of people- with colorful personalities, and depth, and a moderate level of self-esteem.  They have learned that in most human relationships there are layers of intimacy, as well as conflict, and lots of room for repair and resolution.

From all of this, my children are developing a high level of confidence, and a general zest for life.  They are learning how to navigate the world, and manage their emotions, and interact with people who are different and also similar to them.  They are gaining a sense of self-worth, and meaning, and belonging in their lives. 

In the work that I do, as a children’s therapist, I’ve slowly come to know that my own children are those who are of privilege.  Not because they have every expensive toy, or brand name clothing.  Not because they have elaborate trips to Europe, or may attend an IV league school.   Not really even because their parents’ paychecks hit the upper 5- digit status point, or because they live in owned, well-kept homes.   In fact, maybe they won’t go to college that is paid for, or private school, or prestigious summer camps.  They will probably live without such luxuries, as similar to most of their peers. 

Believe it or not, in my work, I have learned that my children aren’t even really privileged just because they are loved.  The reality of it is, even children growing up in extreme impoverished, adverse circumstances are most often times fully loved with great intentions.  The difference is, that these children are also being raised without most of the resources that are so vital in order for them to thrive.

My very own kids and their peers, unlike many, many, many of the students who I see on a daily basis, have been blessed with the gift of being raised in the middle class of America.  In other words, my children will most likely(fingers crossed) grow into healthy, somewhat functional adults- not because of money, not because of parenting, and not because of choices- but merely because of privilege in this country.  My children are privileged because they were born into privilege, and that's really the only reason why.  My future grandchildren will be most likely raised in similar circumstances, because established patterns of social human behavior have a funny way of repeating themselves like that.

To my children- the lucky ones, you are.  More than you may ever know.