The tiny island where we recently vacationed was like a throw back to a simpler time.  Kids rode bikes to the solitary island store or ice cream shop by themselves. Families convened at the water’s edge, collecting shells and sea glass and splashing in the surf. Others dug for clams.   Later in the evenings you would find them further in on the rocks enjoying clambakes and watching the moonrise.  The only way on to the island is by boat, which further added to the sense of separateness.

My husband has family that lives on the island and nearby on the mainland so my children were able to play with cousins their age at the beach. One evening after playing in the water the kids and their adult companions returned to our rental where I was preparing dinner for everyone. As the kids ran through the kitchen to the backyard to pick blackberries I noticed we had an extra kid. A tall strapping boy missing a shoe, he took his plate of dinner without saying much.

My husband noticing my surprise said, “We have enough.” As the kids played outside, I got the story from my husband’s cousin who lives on the Island with his little boy. The child lives with his grandmother on the island, who basically opens the door in the morning and sends him out, only requiring that he be home by dark.

As the kids played the adults discussed whether this was appropriate.  From the age of eight or nine, my summers were spent outdoors, riding my bike with friends to the pool or to around our neighborhood. I’d return home for food and at dark. Part of the appeal of the island for me is the laid back atmosphere that reminds me of what summer used to feel like, when I was a kid. What was distressing to all of the adults is this child just recently turned five. He wanders through the woods, and plays in the surf and climbs the nearby rocks alone.  Perhaps most alarming, he’d gone with an adult to his home when he promised ice cream. 

As capable as this child has proved himself to be at playing on his own, he is still five and has made some poor decisions, like the ice cream. When we asked about someone speaking to the grandmother, we were told there was no speaking to her, she sees nothing wrong with the way her grandson is being raised. 

 If someone on the island reports grandma to the child welfare officials, this child runs the risk of being placed in foster care, which statistically is not good for kids.  It’s a difficult situation for the local parents. When there is no evidence of abuse, should anything be said?  Is it a cultural difference?  Grandma has lived on the Island for years but is originally from another country, perhaps one where young children roam freely as a general rule. Our family member tries to keep an eye on him, but he’s not his parent, and can only do so much, like talk to him about not going to stranger’s homes when they promise ice cream.

Were we just being overly protective about the other stuff (not the ice cream thing because that is just scary)? How freely do you allow your children to play?  Would you report this woman?