Dear reader,
When I first arrived in the Netherlands more than 20 years ago, my daughter was four and a half, so I needed to enroll her in school. Used to the American system, where most kids go to the nearest school, I enrolled her in one that was just a few blocks away.
We lived then in a rented rowhouse in a neighborhood that was developed in the 1970s-80s on what used to be farmland. One of the first neighborhoods outside Groningen’s “ring road,” it was a mix of modest rowhouses and smallish apartment buildings. Intended as a near suburb, the bike paths into the center of town about 15 minutes away were and still are among the busiest in the country.
Each morning I walked her to school, into her classroom, gave her a kiss and left.
It was the afternoon pick-up that astonished and, at first, horrified me.
I arrived at the schoolyard and stood with the other moms – few dads did the afternoon pick-up – waiting for the end of the school day. If it was sunny, many would stand, eyes closed, with their faces raised to the sun, like sunflowers all pointed in the same direction. More often, it was cloudy or rainy, and they’d chat amongst themselves. I was taking introductory Dutch lessons, but couldn’t hold even a basis conversation yet. I eventually found a few moms who were comfortable enough to chat with me in English.
Each day, when the bell rang the end of the school day, the kids started to emerge from the school’s front doors. Here’s what happened next:
The kids – older ones at first – rushed out, coats flapping, backpacks bouncing, shouting to each other or just to the sky. They streamed quickly off the school grounds. These kids made their own way home.
The younger kids came next, generally in less of a rush. They scanned the waiting moms, found theirs and went to them, usually receiving a warm hug or getting their hair tousled.
As the flow out of the school eased, two teachers eventually appeared. They stood next to the door, arms folded across their chests, and started having what always looked like a pleasant chat with each other.
No one checked to see if the kids found their parents. Even the four-year-olds were let completely free to leave the schoolyard. The teachers didn’t even watch them go.
From an American perspective, this is a terrifying scene. What’s to stop a predator from scooping up a stray kid and taking them away? What if a younger kid’s mom isn’t there? What if a kid just decided to go somewhere else – a friend’s house, a candy shop, or wherever? How would the parents know where he or she was?
After a couple of days of school and seeing that this was the norm and didn’t seem to surprise any of the Dutch mothers, I approached my daughter’s teacher one day. Not wanting to sound like I was accusing her of something, I asked “What if a child’s mother isn’t on time to pick her up?”
“That’s not a problem. We’ve told the children that if their mom isn’t there, they should come back and stand with us.”
I raised the question with one of the English-speaking moms. Her response was “Don’t worry. If you’re not there on time, I’ll pick up your daughter.” End of discussion.
Years later, when my son was four, we lived in a different neighborhood. My son’s school was in the middle of a small park with lots of trees and a big, unfenced pond in the middle of it. The school was also unfenced. There the kids ran free as soon as they stepped outside, and the teachers stayed inside.
Apparently the kids had been told that they should go back in the building if their parent wasn’t there to pick them up. But what was to stop them from going exploring instead? I made damn sure always to be there on time.
I’ve realized over the years that I have lived here that, intentionally or not, this early start is part and parcel of a general emphasis on personal responsibility and autonomy in the Netherlands. Even four-year-olds can be responsible enough to remember what they should do if mom is late to pick-up.
This understanding permeates society and influences lots of other areas: medical care, for example, the legal system, higher education. But I’ll write about those in future Letters from Holland.
Met vriendelijke groeten (Friendly greetings),
Rachel
I write about independent travel at Rachel’s Ruminations. Please join me there!