Kids on the bus can be fun for everyone. Really.Photo: Roar Petterson

Parents complain about the hassle. There’s the rushing and waiting in all kinds of weather. There’s the occasional exposure to PG-13 language and behavior. And then there’s the whole folding the stroller thing. (For more on the stroller-on-transit hassle, see here and here and here.)

Some parents encounter hostility, both from fellow passengers and from drivers, and consequently feel intimidated and unwelcome. Most just feel overwhelmed as they try to juggle rules and fares and bags and strollers and — oh yeah — children.

Childfree riders complain of the imposition: entitled or negligent parents, ill-behaved kids, and ginormous strollers blocking aisles and exits.

The thing is, families with young children are an important (and permanent) transit demographic. Taking children to medical appointments, daycare, and the grocery store are not discretionary trips and will continue to happen as long as there are people who don’t own cars.

Parents who don’t depend on transit shouldn’t be discouraged from using it. If driving is the default choice for middle-class parents, even those who live in cities with viable public transportation, we’ll have far more cars on our roads than we need to. Those parents will raise children who see driving as a requirement, and our automobile culture will motor on.

On the other hand, accommodating families isn’t always compatible with commuting, and it can sometimes interfere with an agency’s efficiency and performance (not to mention the quality of a business traveler’s experience).

So, what can we do to make taking kids on transit more enjoyable for everyone? A lot!

What agencies can do

There are plenty of great ideas about how to make transit systems more family- (and everyone-) friendly. But most of the more substantive suggestions — like different fare structures or better transit-tracking technology — require time and money. Given the current transit funding landscape, it’s safe to assume that most of these bigger changes won’t happen. Still, agencies can start with small changes, some of which have the potential to make a pretty big difference.

Publish and publicize child-related policies. A common theme among U.S. transit agencies is a lack of clear, well-publicized, and consistently applied policies regarding traveling with children. Most bus systems, for example, require children to be removed from strollers and strollers to be folded during the ride. Yet, many major transit agencies don’t even mention a stroller policy on their websites — let alone in the posted materials on their vehicles. Here’s what passes for a “stroller policy” for my local agency, King County Metro — a provision that you can incur a $250 fine for the following offense:

Bringing onto a transit passenger vehicle any package or other object which blocks an aisle or stairway or occupies a seat if to do so would, in the operator’s sole discretion, cause a danger to, or displace, passengers or expected passengers.

This (vague) rule is part of Metro’s extensive Code of Conduct, and you won’t find it posted on buses or at stops. 

Like everyone else who uses transit, parents need an easy way to find out what to expect — and what’s expected of them — when they ride.

Emphasize safety. In addition to explaining the safety requirements that influence specific policies, transit agencies should provide more general safety information. Buses and trains are significantly safer for children than are cars, but most parents don’t know this. Agencies should make mode-specific safety statistics available to their riders. They should also publish their own safety records, as well as tips for riding safely with children. 

Provide accessible vehicles. Stroller or not, it’s a hassle climbing steep steps with little kids. When there’s an option, transit agencies should always choose low-floor vehicles. These vehicles are much easier for everyone to board and have the added benefit of significantly decreasing route travel times.

Provide better driver training. A lot of the angst that bus-riding parents feel is a result of bad (or inconsistent) experiences with drivers. Driver training should include clear information about how to handle strollers and other guidelines — such as not taking off until parents with small children are seated — about driving with children on board.

What parents can do

Public transportation will never be completely optimized for any particular demographic, but riding transit with kids is much easier when you take advantage of its strengths (no parking! no strapping and unstrapping! exciting adventures!) and prepare yourself to handle its challenges (see above).

Set yourself up for success. The number one rule for busing (and training) with babies is travel light — or at least, as light as you can possibly manage. Transit vehicles can get crowded, and, whether your agency requires strollers to be folded or not, bringing one on board can be a hassle. If you’re riding with a pre-walker, try carrying your little one in a front pack, sling, or wrap. This keeps the baby content and your hands free for paying, hand-holding, or carrying bags. Plus, carriers are perfect for on-the-go naps.

If you’re traveling with a child who’s two or older, consider giving her the opportunity to walk to and from stops and stations. Sure, she’ll be slow at first, but she’ll build stamina quickly, and you’ll get back some of that slow-walking time by avoiding all the stroller drama. If you must bring a stroller, keep it small and easy to carry and fold — an umbrella or similar model. Your biceps and your fellow riders will thank you.

Set your children up for success. If your little darling is out past his naptime or is late for a meal, you’re not the only one who suffers. Sometimes a little crying is unavoidable, but it’s your job as a good transit citizen to keep your kids as content and quiet as possible on your rides. This means making sure their basic needs are met (I know: duh!), bringing along a few emergency supplies (for us: water, nonperishable snacks, changes of clothes, books), and giving them your full attention while you’re on board (unless, of course, you’re tweeting about how much attention you’re paying them, which is pretty much just as good).

Be prepared. The more you know about your itinerary, fares, wait times, transfer locations, and walking distances before you leave the house, the better your trip will go. There are plenty of trip planning and bus tracking tools for mobile devices, and they work great for parents in a pinch. But it’s hard to click a bunch of tiny icons on your phone while also hanging on to hands and schlepping strollers. At least, it is for me.

What everyone else can do

Relax. Public transportation is all about sharing space with other people. Sometimes those other people are very small and partially sane. (Sometimes they’re fully grown and partially sane, but that’s not the topic we’re covering today.) If you’re willing and able, offer to help; it just might speed up your trip. If not, do your best to be patient and understanding. After all, odds are good that one day you’ll be the person who needs assistance or takes extra time to board.

If all else fails, break out your headphones.

Whee! Living small is fun!Photo: Anna M

First, let’s define small, since our idea of an acceptable amount of space has changed dramatically in the past several decades. In 1950, the average American home was 983 square feet, and the average household size was 3.54 people. Today’s “average” home is close to 2,500 square feet, even while average household size has decreased to 2.67 people.

For the purposes of this piece, I’ll define small as between 500 and 1,000 square feet. Obviously, the challenges of raising kids in a space of this size will vary greatly depending on the amount of storage (whether or not there’s a garage, basement, or on-site storage unit), access to outdoor space like a patio or backyard, how the home is configured, and how many people live in it. And, of course, each city and neighborhood has its own strengths and challenges (our neighborhood, for example, has a great library and plenty of parks and community resources, but not much retail) so not all of the suggestions will apply to all cities.

That said, here are some general tips to help make small-space city living easier for parents — and everyone.

Make “stuff” earn its keep

Before you go gangbusters on the baby gear (or kitchen gadgets, or tools), make sure it will be worth the space it will take up. Ask yourself if you really need a swing and a bouncy chair, or a wipe warmer (yes, there is such a thing), or a gazillion toys for every stage of your child’s life. A good rule of thumb with stuff is to wait until you have a demonstrated need for an item before you acquire it. We started pretty lean on the baby gear (though we did end up with a few hand-me-down chairs we definitely could have done without) and then eventually decided (right before the birth of our second) that it was worth it to us to have two strollers. We don’t own a car and needed a compact, lightweight stroller for the bus, but we found that compact and lightweight wasn’t especially comfortable for our regular long walks — to do errands and to visit friends.

Think vertical

If you don’t have much closet or storage space, take advantage of unused wall space. Our two kids had way too many stuffed animals, most of which were given as gifts at their births or “just because.” My kids never played with the stuffed animals, but I felt guilty giving them away, since they were gifts from people who are important in their lives. So, instead of shoving the animals into their already packed closet, we installed some high display shelves and stored them up there. Voilà! The stuffed animals remained, the kids’ room looked more festive and “kid-like,” and their closet and floor space were spared. Win-win-win.

You can also use vertical space to store books, display knick-knacks, or even to store not-yet-grown-into clothes. In the kitchen, you can hang pots and pans — provided, of course, that your pots and pans aren’t as tacky and worn-out as mine.

Choose multipurpose, foldable furniture

Coffee tables, seating, and even beds with storage are a city parent’s friend. So are futons and fold-out sofas. For items you don’t use every day, see if you can find a version that is easy to stow away. We have a folding play table that we use for coloring/Play-Doh/tea parties and then store under our daughter’s bed, and folding chairs that we pull out when we have more than a few guests. We even have a folding bike, which (before our recent move) we stored in our entry closet.

Downsize appliances 

If you have a standard-size water heater that’s on its last legs, consider replacing it with a tankless version. This will free an entire closet for storage and have the added benefit of saving energy and money. A smaller and/or stackable washer and dryer can free more floor space.

Digitize it

I am the original sentimental pack rat. I used to save everything: programs from plays, ticket stubs from concerts, birthday and holiday cards, napkins from friends’ weddings, and every scribble my kids ever did. I’m so bad, I used to dry and save flowers from bouquets my husband gave me. One year (perhaps not coincidentally, shortly before our first child was born), he suggested I take a picture of the bouquet instead of saving the actual flowers. Brilliant! Since then, I’ve been more content to take photos of items I’d like to preserve and to allow photos of an experience to serve as my souvenir. Sure, there are certain things I still save (Prince concert ticket stubs, a particularly special piece of kiddie artwork), but I’m becoming more willing to use pictures and (electronic) written memories as keepsakes.

You can also store other types of clutter electronically. Scan important documents instead of filling file cabinets. Rip CDs (or, if you want to keep the physical media, store them in CD books and get rid of the covers). Yes, you’ll need a backup solution, but an extra hard drive takes up a lot less space than all the stuff you’ve been hanging onto.

Stash stuff with your neighbors

If you know people in your neighborhood with kids, consider forming a “swap co-op.” If you’re finished with your baby swing but anticipate needing it in the future, you can pass it on to a co-op member with a tiny one, who will then pass it on to you when (if) you need it again. Ditto with hand-me-downs, toys, car seats, et cetera. A system like this (whether formal or informal) will save money and resources as well as space in your home.

The world is your backyard — go play in it!

Some people fear that living in a small space with children will make them claustrophobic and their children bored. But urban life means rethinking the relationship between home and community. Instead of thinking of your home as the place that meets all of your entertainment and recreation needs (media room, huge yard, play area, et cetera), think of it as a springboard that provides easy access to all of the enriching opportunities a city can provide. Use the library regularly instead of storing tons of books in your home. (We also use our library for story time, puzzles, and, in the summer, a cool place to hang out on 90+ days.) Visit nearby parks for outdoor time — and to meet other families in your neighborhood. Other options: museums, community centers, public pools, window shopping, neighborhood walks, coffee shops, bus and train rides, street fairs, farmers’ markets — you get the picture. The opportunities for entertainment in a city are almost endless. Yes, this means leaving your house frequently, even in poor weather.

But let’s face it: No matter where you live, you can’t stay there every waking minute. No matter how much stuff there is to do at home — and my suburban friends with large houses and yards and rooms full of toys will back me up on this — kids almost always prefer to go somewhere else.

Do you live with kids in a small space? Share your own tips in the comments.

Photo: jrodmanjr

If you really want to be a parent — that is, if you’d like to help guide and shape and unconditionally love another human being, and you’re OK with sleepless nights, no time for novels, and very little alone time with your partner — consider adopting.

I have nothing but respect for my GINK brothers and sisters. I think it’s important to say (out lout and often) that it’s OK to choose not to have kids. Not only is it OK (and, if I’m remembering correctly, a heck of a lot of fun) to be childfree, it’s also good for the planet in a lot of ways. Plus, you can get more done at work.

Certainly, as Lisa has mentioned in previous articles, there are ways to be part of a child’s life without the responsibility and full-time commitment of parenting. But the thing is, a lot of people — let’s call them GIWKs, as in green inclinations, want kids — would actually find that responsibility and full-time commitment fulfilling. The other thing is, caring about the future of the planet, and specifically, about controlling human population, doesn’t automatically preclude parenting.

Right now, there are almost half a million children in foster care in the United States. Slightly less than a quarter of them are legally available for adoption. If each one of those children was adopted by a GIWK (not sure of just how to pronounce that) on the fence about procreating, we’d make a pretty decent dent in that problem — and in a lot of others.

Last year, almost 30,000 children turned 18 and “aged out” of the foster care system without ever having found an adoptive family. Most of these young people found themselves homeless and jobless and turned to crime at rates significantly higher than their peers. From The Christian Science Monitor:

The vast majority of young people who age out of the foster-care system struggle to find housing and jobs and to complete their education, according to a new study released Wednesday, which tracked hundreds of foster-care youths from age 17 and 18 through age 23 or 24.

Among some of the more sobering findings:

• Only 6 percent of those surveyed had finished a two- or four-year college degree by age 24, and nearly one-quarter did not have a high school diploma or GED.
• Nearly 60 percent of the young men had been convicted of a crime.
• Only 48 percent were working, compared with 72 percent of their peers who hadn’t been in foster care. For those working, the median income annual was just $8,000.
• Nearly 40 percent had been homeless or had “couch-surfed” since leaving foster care, and three-quarters of the young women had received public assistance in the last year.

Imagine the impact on our cities if those kids had found stable, loving families before (preferably long before) they turned 18.

And imagine the impact on the kids.

Children in foster care “have been removed from their birth family homes for reasons of neglect, abuse, abandonment, or other issues endangering their health and/or safety.” Foster children become available for adoption when the parental rights of their birth parents are terminated by the state.  A child who has suffered in these ways is likely to benefit immeasurably from simply being loved.

Many of us think of adoption as a “last ditch” choice — one that we make if we have exhausted all of our options to have a child biologically. But adoption can also be viewed as a very intentional way to create a family. Adopting a child from foster care means choosing to open your home to someone like Brian, one of the many kids featured on the weekly television segment, Wednesday’s Child:

Brian has dreams of guarding the streets as a police officer when he is older. He is a very mature young man, has a great sense of humor, and gets along well with his peers. In school, he enjoys math, science, and recess. During his spare time, he likes to play video games, sports, and watch movies. His ideal day would include eating at McDonald’s and watching wrestling. In the future, Brian would like to be very successful and have LOTS of money.

When talking to Brian, he agrees that you must use teamwork in a family. While Brian has many goals for the future, his current goal is to find a family to which he can belong. He would like to have a family that will be there to support his goals, dreams, and aspirations. Will someone add him to their team?

What could be more intentional than adults who really want a child opening their home to a kid who really wants parents? And — for those of you who’d prefer to parent from infancy — we’re not just talking about big kids. Some children enter the foster care system immediately after birth.

In most states, adopting a foster child is legal (even encouraged) regardless of marital status, age, or sexual orientation. There aren’t long waiting lists. And, unlike private adoption, it’s not horrendously expensive. And so, my GIWKs, you have an alternative. Foster adoption is a good choice for the planet, for the families it creates, and for the health of our communities. It’s the ultimate happy ending.

But everybody else does it!Photo: Mario Klingemann

I wasn’t especially surprised by the question. I’ve been expecting it since the day she was born (well, maybe the day after she was born, which was also the day she took her first bus ride). And over the last six months, it has become apparent to her that most people we know don’t ride the bus and walk everywhere they go.

I’m not naive. I fully expect that at some point, my children will rebel against our decision to not to own a car. I expect them to do this because (assuming we don’t see a dramatic shift in attitudes in the next decade) cars convey social status, and because (thanks to a half century of infrastructure built to accommodate them) they are often the travel choice of least resistance.

Right now, Rosa is fine with the bus. She enjoys the adventures and the family face time, and she doesn’t really know anything different. (Transportation conversations with my son, who just turned one, still revolve around vehicle identification — Buh! Buh! Tain! — but I’m pretty sure he’s fine with the bus, too.)

But when Rosa gets to second grade and the cool girls gasp in amazement (and horror!) at her predicament, or when, while walking home from school in the rain, she gets passed by her classmates riding in their parents’ warm sedans, or when she turns 16 and decides to reject everything I hold dear, she might feel differently. Odds are good that she’ll also be influenced by exposure to the auto industry’s propaganda: Cars provide freedom. Cars attract romance. And not only that: Cars are an inevitable, inescapable fact of life.

It is because I know what I am up against that I want to explain to my children — as soon as they start asking — why we live differently than our friends and most of the people they know. If I don’t tell them the truth, who will?

But back to the walk to church.

I told my daughter, in as matter-of-fact and measured a way as I could, why I only drive a car when it’s absolutely necessary. I told her about the effects of cars on our health and the health of the planet: sedentary lifestyles, pollution of air and water, traffic, and noise. (I didn’t get into urban form or destruction of community. Another day.) My little one was convinced. As soon as I finished my explanation, she announced. “I don’t want to have a car!”

This would be fine — great, even — except that she is surrounded by cars and the people who drive them. Moments after our discussion, a ’90-something Mazda with black smoke spewing out of its exhaust pipe zoomed past. “Mommy, Mommy!” she shrieked, visibly shaken. “I don’t want that car to share its pollution with me!”

And it’s not just that I don’t want her to feel terrified every time we step out our front door. I also don’t want her to form judgments about people who don’t live the same way we do. (Those people would be the majority of the residents of her hometown. According to the U.S. Census, 84 percent of Seattle households — including our extended family and closest friends — own cars.) It took her only a matter of minutes after learning about runoff to ask, “Does [insert the name of a family friend]‘s car hurt the fish?”

Hmm. Well, yes, but …

My husband said he would have handled the discussion differently. He would have told her that we don’t need a car for our day-to-day life, and that is why we don’t own one. I suppose I could have also put a positive spin on my response and told her that I love riding the bus and walking and prefer to travel that way.

These are both true statements, but they don’t tell the whole story. If I don’t present the other side, the “why” that keeps me going even when it’s raining and I’m schlepping two kids, a shopping bag, and an umbrella, and the bus is 20 minutes late, then I’m setting her up to feel put-upon, or to decide that we’re crazy. (In fact, that seems to be the general consensus of pretty much everyone who knows us.) In other words, I won’t be telling her the truth.

I want to tell my children the truth, but I want to tell it to them in a way that doesn’t scare them, or alienate them from their peers, or cause them to question the choices of everyone else they know. Maybe that’s asking too much. After all, it is crucial that they understand the seriousness of the issue. Maybe I just went about it the wrong way.

So, I’d like some help. How do you teach your children values that stray from the mainstream without alienating them from you or from their community and peers? Or, if your parents raised you with values that you still hold dear: What did they do right?

I want my kids to grow up surrounded by all kinds of people.Photo: Carla Saulter

My favorite holiday, hands down, is Martin Luther King Day. This is partly because I share a birthday with Dr. King and therefore like to think of the celebration (and even Stevie Wonder’s famous MLK Day song) as sort of mine, too. It’s partly because it’s one of the few holidays that isn’t promoted as an occasion to buy stuff or celebrate a particular association. But it’s mostly because the King holiday is the only day I know of that we set aside to honor peace, justice, and service. What’s not to like?

Every year, our family celebrates MLK Day by participating in as many of the local events as we can manage to attend. The number we can squeeze in depends on many factors, including what time and where they take place, holiday bus availability, and how well rested the little ones are. But the event we never miss is the annual rally and march.

Seattle’s march is one of the biggest in the country and happens to start right in our neighborhood. There are other events that are more constructive (such as organized volunteer efforts) or less exposed to the elements (such as a local arts organization’s amazing staged readings of his speeches), but they don’t mean as much to me as the march. There’s something about being surrounded by thousands of people who’ve given up their days off (or, as in my husband’s case, who’ve explicitly taken the day off) to raise their voices in support of King’s vision.

Each year, Seattle’s MLK Day march has a theme that exemplifies a particular aspect of Dr. King’s philosophy. This year, it was “Many Voices United to Build the Beloved Community.” The theme was chosen, I assume, because of the recent death of Roberto Maestas, a local leader who was a champion of the concept, but I can’t think of a better way to describe what happens at those marches. King used the term “beloved community” to articulate a particular vision, so forgive me if I take a little creative license and present my own interpretation.

The march-goers run the gamut — old-school civil rights leaders, peace activists, members of historically black fraternities and sororities, schoolchildren, religious groups, artists, community organizers, political types looking to sell themselves to a captive audience, and folks who just want a way to honor what King stood for. They show up in the pouring rain or biting cold, holding handmade signs, leashes, and children’s hands. They bring megaphones. They bring instruments. They bring umbrellas and extra gloves. All of us walk together, in the street, past the familiar landmarks we love, remembering a man who inspired us. And in this spirit of camaraderie we are moved to introduce ourselves to people we’ve seen — sometimes dozens or hundreds of times — in other contexts. We leave feeling closer to our community, reminded of our interdependence and of our collective power.

This is why I am drawn to the march year after year, and why I will continue to bring my children. It is also why I am, and have always been, drawn to cities. Though I try to use this column to share the benefits (and address the challenges) of raising children in urban environments, the practicalities are somewhat beside the point for me. For me, the point is beauty of the city — a beauty that extends beyond a lovely skyline or great theaters and restaurants — that is manifested in the incredible mix of humanity represented in its residents.

I want my children to be surrounded by elders and infants, artists and laborers, students and teachers. By immigrants and First People, people who look just like them and people who look different. People who speak their language and people they must stretch to communicate with. I want them to pass street performers on the way to the bus stop. I want them to feel at home in a crowd of strangers. I want them to understand that a man can love another man the same way that Daddy loves Mommy. I want all this for them because they need to know how to make their way in a complex and diverse world, but also because it’s beautiful.

What concerns me more than the number of parks per square mile or ease of access to enrichment activities is whether this beauty will exist in 10 years. As we rethink our way of life, as cities become more desirable and “urban” is no longer considered a dirty word, we must not overlook the reasons we love them. I’m all for walkability and transit-oriented development and mixed use and many of the other New Urbanism hallmarks that are influencing urban revitalization efforts across the country. But I also know we must figure out how to make our cities more livable and sustainable without triggering the seemingly invitable march of gentrification. Because cities don’t become what they are solely because of urban design. Without diversity — of age, income, ethnicity, occupation, and ideas — they will lack the soul that makes them places people want to be.

The city I want for my children is all about community. The beloved community.

Raising a family in a small space can pose some sustainability challenges.Photo: The Shopping Sherpa

Being car-free requires us to shop when and where we have an opportunity. This means that if we happen to be near a store that sells items we are in need of, we take advantage. (It also means that we shop on the internets sometimes. OK, a lot.) There are certain stores we make an effort to patronize, but in general, we limit our purchases to places that are easy for us to get to and — since hopping from shop to shop isn’t a cinch — are likely to have what we want. As a result, resale shopping doesn’t happen as much as it could. Nor do Craigslist purchases, which require coordinating pickup times with Zipcar availability. And speaking of Craigslist …

When you live in a small space, you have to be very deliberate about the furniture you buy. You can’t buy just any old hutch; you need one that will fit in the corner you have available for it. You can’t buy just any old bench; you need one with specific dimensions — and with storage. Though it might be possible to find what you need online or at a yard sale/resale shop, the search often requires multiple visits to far-flung, sometimes transit-unfriendly locations. Score one for centrally located furniture shops with delivery.

Small spaces mean, not surprisingly, small storage. (In our particular case, we had no storage other than the closets inside the unit.) Thanks to generous (and stylish) friends, we’ve managed to borrow most of our kids’ clothing and gear. Unfortunately, hand-me-downs are not generally delivered one size/season at a time; they’re usually handed off in bulk. Storing a couple of years of outfits is problematic for people without a basement, a garage, or super-sized walk-in closets. Traveling across town with bags of onesies (or a baby swing!) every time your kid has a growth spurt is tough for folks who get around by bus or bike.

Saving disposable items (such as wrapping paper, gift bags, and boxes) for future reuse also becomes challenging in small homes. It’s tempting to get rid of items that cause clutter in the here and now, rather than saving them for some future useful purpose.

Bulky reusable items like cloth diapers also take up a fair amount of space — especially if you wash them yourself. Wet diapers are one thing, but the other kind usually require soaking. Soaking in the only toilet is not an option, especially for families with frequent visitors. The only other option is a bucket, which must be stored — but where? (And yes, I know there’s such a thing as a diaper service.)

Multi-family living also often means there’s no place to plant a garden or hang laundry. (In our case, there wasn’t even a place to park a bike.) Living without a car often means not traveling the extra two miles to the store that sells the most ethically produced option.

There’s more of course, but I think you get the idea.

The challenges posed by the small space/no car combo are by no means insurmountable; we developed workarounds for many of the issues I described, some of which I will likely share in a future column. But, the challenges are instructive. They remind us that for city dwellers, “going green” often manifests itself differently than it does for others. (Though certainly, residents of denser cities who have more choices in closer proximity will face fewer obstacles than we did.) They also remind us that living your values sometimes means deciding on the highest priorities and letting some of the other stuff go. Will your wallet or the planet be better off if you buy a car to streamline used changing-table purchases? Or if you move to a house with a backyard big enough for a vegetable garden, chickens, and a clothesline? Not likely. 

So enjoy your cozy quarters (and bus/bike rides), do the best you can, and try not to sweat the small(ish) stuff.

Photo: Wyoming_Jackrabbit

Last week, I chatted with Lenore Skenazy, author of Free Range Kids, about this very topic. You remember Lenore. She’s the mom who was crucified by the national media back in 2008, after she let her nine-year old son ride the subway alone and then wrote about it for The New York Sun.  A self-described “worrier mom,” Skenazy encourages parents — no matter where they live — to move beyond fears and focus on facts.

Incessant coverage of the most gruesome, horrifying crimes against children makes us think our kids are in constant danger. But, she points out, many of the risks we take great pains to guard against — at the expense of our sanity and our children’s well-being — are actually extremely rare. (The chances of a child being abducted and killed by a stranger, for example, are one in 1.5 million.) In chapter after chapter, Skenazy confronts parental fears, discussing both their roots and their rootedness in reality. For the real dangers, she gives practical advice to help you minimize risk. For the other stuff, she provides reassuring data and tips to help you stop hovering.

So I ask you: Where is the woman who wrote an entire book about risks to children (and knows a thing or two about safety) choosing to raise her own family? Yes folks, a city. Actually, the city: Manhattan.

The ultimate measure of safety, of course, is whether you’re able to stay alive from one day to the next. By this standard, cities are safer than many suburbs — at least, according to a University of Virginia study.

Potential dangers in any residential location arise from leaving home to travel to work, shop, attend school, attend church, visit friends, or go to civic functions and family gatherings. Tabulating traffic fatalities is the best method of measuring these dangers, the researchers concluded.

They also examined homicides by strangers, because they are the murders most likely to be associated with going about one’s routine business out of the home, and they may be related to proximity to dangerous areas.

The study found that the most dangerous regions of nine metropolitan areas (Baltimore, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, Milwaukee, Minneapolis-St. Paul, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh) are the outer suburbs. (Inner-ring suburbs were the safest, with central cities coming in second.) People, especially children, are most likely to be hurt or killed in an automobile crash, and, not surprisingly, automobile crashes are more prevalent in areas that require cars to get around. (Outer suburbs also tend to be dominated by two-lane roads, which are responsible for roughly 77 percent of automobile fatalities.) Even though the risk of homicide by a stranger (incidentally, a small percentage of all homicides) is slightly higher in central cities, the difference is not enough to overcome the significantly elevated risk in outer suburbs of a fatal car crash.

Of course, there’s more to safety than staying alive. Most of us would also like to avoid being assaulted, harassed, or robbed. So what of the crime that does exist in cities? According to Skenazy, that’s going down — and not just a little bit. We’re talking historic lows. Crime rates have been falling in almost every category (including crimes against children) since the mid-90s, and are no higher today than they were in 1974.

This is not to say that all cities are safe, or even that all neighborhoods in low-crime cities are safe. Certainly, there are places where children are at great risk — either of participating in a culture of violence or of being caught in the crossfire. And of course, rare, horrific crimes can happen anywhere. But what’s important to remember is that there is nothing inherently dangerous about cities. On the contrary.

Says Skenazy. “For every worry about an urban environment, there’s also something that makes it safer.”

In central cities, there are more people around. More eyes and ears (with cell phones) on the street mean less opportunity for crime. Skenazy suggests that the best way to keep kids safe in cities is to teach them basic street smarts, so that they can avoid dangerous situations or find help if they encounter one. And, tell kids not to go off with people they don’t know, but also teach them “To talk to strangers. That way, if they’re ever creeped out by someone in the proverbial white van, they can run to the man across the street, raking his leaves, and say, ‘Help! I’m being followed!’ Or they can run into a shop and say, ‘Call the police!’ Or, ‘Can I please borrow your phone?”’

Urban parents can take comfort in the fact that their children, on the whole, are not in greater danger than children who live in other environments. Still, we cannot dismiss the importance of security – both real and perceived- and its influence on where families choose to make their homes. NYC transportation chief Janette Sadik-Khan said it well in her recent interview with Sarah Goodyear. “When you think about it, safety and sustainability are deeply intertwined. You can’t get people to ride a bike if they don’t feel safe. You can’t get more people onto a bus if they feel like the streets are dangerous. They go so deeply together.”

“The Spirit of Detroit” is still strong.Photo: Adam Edwards

I know what’s coming, believe me. As a Motown booster by marriage, I’ve heard every joke and disparaging remark there is to hear about Detroit, frequently from people who’ve never set foot in the city. The remarks don’t accomplish much, since, like everyone else who hasn’t been living under a rock, I am very aware of Detroit’s challenges. (I assume most Grist readers live above ground, so I’ll spare you the rundown.)

New(ish) Mayor Dave Bing has said that Detroit won’t recover if it can’t attract and retain middle-class families. Unfortunately, the city isn’t especially well positioned to do that. By almost every official measure, from employment to crime to education to transportation, Detroit falls short in the livability department.

There are smart, committed people working on these issues, but it’s safe to say that Detroit hasn’t topped any recent “best places to raise a family” lists. (It has, however, bottomed at least one.) And yet, there are a surprising number of people who are choosing to raise their children there. Some are transplants attracted by low-cost housing. Some are visionaries who want to build a business or make a difference. Many, like Free Press columnist Stephen Henderson, are Detroit natives who love the city and want to be a part of its transition. This is what he wrote back in 2007:

But I’m back anyway, in the ‘D’ as they now say, and my best alibi is that it’s for matters of heart more than soundness of mind … My memories here have an almost tactile intensity, and they define the contours of what I want for my young family.

I’ve been to Detroit a total of seven times. This hardly makes me an expert on the city. Other than downtown/Midtown, Adam’s childhood neighborhood of Rosedale Park, and Belle Isle, I can’t even claim to have seen much of it up close. But my admittedly limited experience with my “city-in-law” has given me a pretty good understanding of why there are still parents who think the words “Detroit” and “family” belong in the same sentence.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to live in Detroit. (I might, however, end up there one day so, future possible fellow Detroiters: Please don’t take offense.) This is partly because I don’t want to live anywhere but my own original city (see above) and partly because Detroit’s not really my kind of place. I’m not especially fond of sub-freezing temperatures or car worship, and I still don’t understand all the fuss over those glorified chili dogs Michigan folk refer to as “Coneys.” (I did manage to inhale several both times I was pregnant, though.)

Still, there’s lots to like about Detroit from a parent’s perspective. Here is some of what the families who are sold on Detroit (and I) see in the place.

Culture

Detroit offers almost limitless cultural opportunities. The museums alone will keep little ones enriched through grad school. On my first visit, I spent half a day gaping at the Rivera frescoes at the Detroit Institute of Art and another half day touring the Charles Wright Museum of African American History. (I’ve visited that museum on every subsequent visit, BTW.) Detroit’s symphony is one of the best in the country, and the tradition of Motown as a mecca for R&B is alive and well. The city still turns out amazing artists, and live music is everywhere — at restaurants, on the streets, and at the many festivals hosted there.

Public art abounds. From the Joe Louis Fist, to the Noguchi Fountain, to the Pewabic Tile People Mover stations, to the amazing architecture, to the graffiti masterpieces in the Dequidre Cut, there’s a lot of visual inspiration in Detroit.  

Community

Negative image or no, Detroiters are proud of their city. The natives I’ve met, almost to a person, speak of the place with a reverence and pride that is rare for any city, let alone one so maligned. When Detroit hosted the Super Bowl in 2006, residents volunteered to be part of an official/unofficial welcome wagon. They stood on street corners in the cold, passing out maps and brochures and asking folks if they needed help with anything. (Imagine that happening in a place that takes tourists for granted.)

Detroit may not have the foot traffic of denser cities, but what it lacks in face-to-face contact it makes up for in friendliness. It’s small-town friendly — the kind of place where you can strike up conversations with strangers. This sense of community makes the few areas in Detroit where you can find a bit of urban bustle — Eastern Market, Greektown, the Riverwalk, Campus Martius — all the more enjoyable.

Character

Raising kids in a city isn’t just about providing them with resources and advantages. It’s also about helping them grow up. Yes, Detroit’s economy is struggling, and it’s missing a lot of the amenities that are taken for granted in more prosperous places. And yes, Detroit has a lot of poor people. Sheltering kids from poverty — or any difference that makes us uncomfortable — might provide the illusion of protection in the short run, but it doesn’t teach them to cope with the world they will face as adults. Nor does it teach them to feel compassion for and kinship with the wide variety of people they will encounter in the future.

Choosing to stay in a city with problems also provides lessons in commitment and responsibility. As Stephen Henderson put it:

Do I want to show my son that it’s OK to turn your back on home, just because it’s a place having a tough time? Would I want to tell my daughter that the easy choice is always better than the difficult one?

Coming back, especially now, says to both of them that there’s significance in what we feel for where we’re from. It says being close to that feeling has a value that trumps comfort; it certainly outdoes complacency.

No, I’m not ready to raise my family in Detroit, but I tell you what: I sure do enjoy my visits. And I have hope for the city. Because, (real and hyped) problems aside, Detroit is a place with a rich history, a strong identity, and a sense of community and place. Despite all its problems, Detroit is a city that people love.

Snowstorms in Seattle, like this one in 2008, highlight how limiting car dependence can be.Photo: John Mundy

It’s a fair question. Unfortunately, in order to answer it, I am forced to bring up a topic that has received a bit too much attention in my hometown this week. I apologize in advance to all you Seattle types who are sick to death of all the talk of cold weather — and to all you East Coast and Midwest people who can’t understand why we get so worked up about it.

Last week, it snowed in Seattle. As you may or may not know, snow in Seattle is a big deal. (Watch it in the comments, folks; I’m third generation and proud.) There are many reasons for this. In the first place, it doesn’t happen very often, so the city hasn’t invested much in plows, salting trucks, and whatever the heck else you need to clear the streets of the pesky stuff. (We have the equipment, just not much of it.) In the second place, we have hills. The hills are not small. Big hills + partially plowed streets + folks who don’t see snow very often = well, snOMG.

During a Seattle snowstorm, it’s darn near impossible to get around town in a car. This doesn’t stop people from trying. Some people make it there and back without much trouble. Some end up stranded in snowdrifts miles from their homes. Many never make it out of their driveways. For as long as there is snow on the streets, the news is dominated by coverage of snarled traffic, canceled events, and crazy 10-car pileups.

It’s during the times we are not able to drive that it becomes clear just how little “control” a car-dependent life provides. Driving a mile or more to buy a gallon of milk or a box of Band-Aids may not seem especially remarkable until your alternator dies. Or gas prices rise above $4 per gallon. Or the roads are covered in a foot of snow.

When I was in my late teens, my family moved from the city to a northern suburb. During one of my winter break visits home from college, we experienced a huge snowstorm — much bigger than the one last week — and none of the streets in the neighborhood were cleared. While we were trapped in the house together, every one of us came down with an awful flu, and the medicine cabinet was bare. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single store within walking distance — not that there were sidewalks to walk on. We remained miserable, sick, and claustrophobic for an entire week, until the weather finally warmed and the snow melted. 

These days, I’m back in the city (thankfully, so is the rest of my family), and my experience with snowstorms is much different. Cleared roads or not, if I need something (food, medicine, a book, a drink), I don’t have to get in a car — or even, for that matter, on a bus. Our neighborhood ain’t the swankiest or most walkable in Seattle, but we do have a supermarket, a drugstore, and a library. (We also have a beauty supply store, but so far, I haven’t experienced any leave-in conditioner crises during an extreme weather event.) And, despite the fact that my fellow citizens always seem to miss the memo about shoveling them, we have sidewalks.

My neighborhood and its sidewalks also come in handy when it’s not snowing.

I used to worry about what I would do if one of my kids suddenly needed medical care, until I realized that I could walk to a hospital faster than many people I know could drive to one. Not that I would walk, of course. We took a cab when my daughter had an unexplained high fever in the middle of the night — and when I was in labor with my son. Both times, we were checking in within 15 minutes of placing the call. The community clinic where we take the kids for regular care is a block away, and we’re blocks from a pharmacy should we ever require medications we don’t have on hand.

And it’s not just about medical issues. Living in a central city, even one in which cars are the default mode of transportation, means you’re never far from what you need. Our daughter’s preschool is a nine-minute walk (at three-year-old’s pace) from our home. Church is 15 minutes. Grocery store and dry cleaner: seven. Library: five. Post office: 10. Parks and community centers are a few minutes in almost any direction. Downtown is a short bus ride or a really long walk.

My family doesn’t have a car, but what we do have is access, and that makes me feel far more in control than a car ever could.

Kids don’t need a white picket fence to have fun.Photo: Sarah Goodyear

We cannot separate our children from the ills that affect everyone, however hard we try. — Erica Jong, “The Madness of Modern Motherhood,” in the Wall Street Journal

Most environmentally aware parents would say that we’d like to keep the planet in good shape for our kids. We’d like them to have clean air to breathe, healthy sources of food and water, and the good fortune to coexist with a variety of species of plants and animals. We’d also probably prefer that they not be drowned by rising sea levels before they reach retirement.

This is somewhat (OK, a lot) ironic, since many of the environmental ills that threaten our children’s futures have been exacerbated by our attempts to keep them safe in the here and now.

Allow me to explain.

We Americans tend to believe that a healthy environment in which to raise children is a large, single-family home in a quiet, suburban community. Many of us are convinced that trading the polluted, crowded city for greener pastures (also known as the large backyards that usually come along with suburban homes) is the right decision for our children. Unfortunately, the farther we move from urban centers, the more auto-dependent, resource-intensive, and by extension, environmentally detrimental our lives become. Auto-dependent living is bad for our children; it’s also very, very bad for the planet.

The energy efficiency of individual automobiles is a far less important environmental issue than the energy inefficiency of the asphalt-latticed way of life that we have built to oblige them- the sprawling American landscape of subdivisions, parking lots, strip malls and interstate bypasses. The critical energy drain in a typical American suburb is not the Hummer in the driveway; it’s everything the Hummer makes possible- the oversized houses and irrigated yards, the network of new feeder roads and residential streets, the costly and inefficient outward expansion of the power grid, the duplicated stores and schools, the two-hour solo commutes. – Green Metropolis: Why Living Smaller, Living Closer, and Driving Less Are the Keys to Sustainability, by David Owen

Certainly, every choice matters, and making an effort to do the little things right is important. (Lord knows I agonize over pretty much every child-related choice I’m presented with, to my husband’s great delight.) But folks, if you live in a sprawling, autocentric community that requires you to drive your kids to the supermarket to buy their organic produce and to the local playfield to get their exercise, you’re not doing them — or the planet — any favors.

Environmentally responsible parenting is about more than cloth diapers and BPA-free thermoses. It means drastically reducing the amount we consume and pollute. It means letting go of the belief that the best way to raise children is in a 2,500-square-foot, two-car home with a half-acre lawn, and instead embracing a different version of “family friendly”: dense, diverse, and transit-rich.

If you’re having a hard time accepting the idea that a whole bunch of people living in close proximity is good for the environment, read David Owen’s Green Metropolis (see above). It’s a thorough and clearly explained statement of the case. In the meantime, I’ll take a stab at an overview.

Living in a dense community means living in a smaller space. Smaller spaces require less energy to heat and cool. Smaller spaces take up less land, leaving room for more homes — and maybe even some forests and farmland. Smaller spaces also require us to limit the amount of “stuff” we accumulate, which in turn limits the amount of waste we produce.

As more people are living in close proximity to each other, more resources can be shared. Neighborhood parks replace large backyards; coffee shops and community centers replace home offices and playrooms; public libraries replace extensive personal libraries; and nearby theaters replace media rooms. Other resources, like power and sewer lines, can also be delivered more efficiently to densely populated communities.

Density supports alternative transportation. More people means more frequent and efficient transit service and more amenities within walking and cycling distance.

If you’re having a hard time accepting the idea that a whole bunch of people living in close proximity is good for families, consider that living in a dense, urban neighborhood can provide some of the same benefits for children as riding public transportation: exposure to a variety of people, sensory stimulation, and self-reliance, to name a few. Urban environments also provide innumerable cultural and social opportunities, those which suburban parents usually drive their children to cities to enjoy. Dense communities are arguably better for kids’ health than suburbs, because the built environment in urban environments is more likely to encourage walking and other forms of active transportation. And dense cities, despite their reputation for being cold, impersonal, and dangerous, actually foster community.

If you’re still not convinced, stay tuned. The focus of this column is to explore the relationship between families and cities — the many points of harmony and also the many points of tension — and to consider, in addition to policies that might make cities more family friendly, individual choices that can make families more, well — city friendly.