Julie Luongo

“When a man meets catastrophe on the road, he looks in his purse, but a woman looks in her mirror.” ~Margaret Turnbull

The Hard Way is out in bookstores everywhere, so Unpublished Author is a title I hold no longer! I’m pretty psyched about that. However, recently it came about that I also lost my title as Family Safety Officer. This was an unpaid position, honorary, that I held for the past 6 years, since my first nephew was born. And it’s over. Really over.

It was bestowed upon me because I’m in the category of clueless childless adults who overreacts to any possible danger to kids. People like me are probably the reason we have to wear helmets on bicycles. Sorry.

Some of the annoying things about my “safety first” mantra to the three kids my sister has are that:

1. I don’t follow many common-sense safety rules myself.

I ride around on the back of a motorcycle all summer. I don’t wear protective gear on bikes or other wheeled toys despite the fact that I’m sometimes quite awkward on them. And I often eat raw or very rare food and dairy past its expiration date.

2. I remember fondly my danger-seeking youth.

Once we lowered a neighbor girl out of our barn loft and dropped her on her head (our instantly rope burned hands gave out on us). There was the old-style skateboard we’d sit on and ride down the big hill by my house, almost always biffing it badly at peak velocity. And the worst had to burying ourselves under big piles of leaves raked into the road to hide from the cars driving down my street. A brilliant game.

3. I think most safety rules are overprotective and stifling.

Those crazy five-point-harness car seats absolutely immobilize kids! It gives me anxiety looking at those helpless little people strapped into cars like they’re astronauts before take-off. Oh, and the helmets for everything. It used to be that only the kid with 3 previous head injuries had to wear a helmet, the poor sap.

Also annoying about my role as the Family Safety Officer is that I can really drain the fun out of life for kids. For example:

1. Horseplay on stairs? No! (You could fall.)
2. Jumping on my bed. OK. But pushing the mattress off the bed and using it to rocket down the steps? No way. (It could wreck the mattress.)
3. Walking across the street without holding hands? Out of the question. (Drunk drivers abound!)

When my sister’s kids were learning to walk, I hovered around them with arms outstretched while my hands blocked any sharp table edges. I rigorously followed choking guidelines on toy packages and only bought airway-appropriate gifts, guaranteeing the toys I gave were lame and way below their developmental levels.

I was constantly telling the kids not to do something they were completely allowed to do. Eventually, I wised up and started asking:

• “Are you allowed to jump off of the playhouse roof with an umbrella?” (Yes.)
• “Do you think it’s a good idea to rocket off the couch onto the exercise ball?” (We do it all the time.)
• “Do your parents let you knock each other over and smother the baby?” (He likes it.)

So, to everyone’s great relief, I found ways to lighten up a bit. I still don’t play tackle. But I don’t hold my hand over the coffee table corner anymore when the gang gallops through the living room to William Tell’s Overture.

However, I do bellow the requisite “be careful” just to maintain my standing as Family Safety Officer. They smirk at me. It’s endearing. Trust me, they like it. They always come and tell me about their injuries and I cry over them and tell them they’re daredevils and they need to cover themselves in bubblewrap at the beginning of each and every day. They love it.

Despite this … regarding the status of my Family Safety Officer title, here’s what happened. From the beginning. As best I can recall.

I was at my mother’s house and my niece and nephews were there. I was searching through some stuff I have cluttering up her place in an effort to rid her of my packrattery and find a favorite item I realized I needed immediately! Probably a trinket I decided on a whim that I couldn’t live without. I can’t recall what it was anymore. Important stuff though, no doubt.

In the search, I was discarding things to the kids – ages 6, 5, and 3. There was:

• A Fancy Scarf
• Refrigerator Magnets
• Various Pens and Old Pencils
• Sticky Pads from Pharma Companies
• Dove Chocolate Hearts
• Polished Rocks
• Sea Shells
• Paper Clips
• Packets of Travel Tissues

I don’t know why the kids want this crap, but they claim to when it’s up for grabs. Even when stuff lands in my pile, if they ask me for it, I almost always say yes. There are very few items I own that I won’t willingly give to the doe-eyes of the mini-kin. So, when my nephew asked for the handbag I was cleaning out, I tossed it his way.

Apparently, my nephew got the bag home and my sister eyed it up and determined that it was fairly useless for a 6 year-old, but would be really cute for her to carry around in the fall. So, the other day in a cleaning frenzy she spotted the purse and casually inspected it to see if it was indeed being used to hold Pokemons or a saber tooth tiger collection.

She unzipped the many pockets and found the purse empty except for some things her sister, the Family Safety Officer, left behind. They are as follows:

1. A Tampon: Cardboard Applicator, Regular Absorbency, Tampax Brand
2. Antique Needlenose Pliers: Non-Coated, Metal Handles and Some Rust
3. A Lighter: Red, Disposable, Non-Childproof, with Butane

And thus ended my reign. RIP Family Safety Officer title. It was fun while it lasted.