I watched some dutch parents cycle their kids to school one day, in droves. It was so cute. Cycling with your kids trailing behind you on their bicycles, or delivering them to preschool in a 'bakfiets' (the basket at the front of adult's bike.) instead of delivering them in a sedan. Then I thought about me doing that, and I weirded myself out. Raising kids in the Netherlands - could it be a whole different ball game?
'Kom maar schatje', I could say as I held hands with my daughter/son/combination of, crossing the road with them after a trip to the local library.
'Mama, wat zal wij eten vanavond?' they might ask me when they get home from hockey practice, opening the fridge door in search of a snack, finally settling on a piece of gouda.
Then I thought about all the cultural differences I would have to deal with; the schooling system, the german and dutch homework, other parents of dutch children, report cards, parent/teacher interviews, bullying, healthcare, immunisation. I can barely find a doctor for myself, and navigate the world of health insurance, train schedules, let alone care for dependent offspring in another country, amongst another culture.
No, no,no,no - these are challenges that I do not want to ponder about.
The mere thought of it made me shudder, and I hastened my walking pace, past the school gates quickly, perhaps scared of the thought that I might catch 'pregnancy' from hanging around the mothers and children.
As quickly as I had passed the throngs of mothers, fathers and cute little dutch children, it occured to me, my parents had faced all those things raising me.
I freaked out at the mere thought of it - my parents just got on with it, and did it. They truly are incredible.
And that was a revelation I could have only come to, being here.
1 comment:
You should have taken a pic of the parents cycling their kids to school along with this post!
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