Ever since returning to the Chicago area after living for almost a decade in Switzerland, my nice suburban neighbors have scrutinized my parenting. The biggest shock to the community was when I decided that my 7-year-old daughter was responsible enough to walk five blocks to school alone.
“You know, we’d be happy to drive her in the morning,” said one neighbor.
I’ve discovered that these parents are all lovely people and well-meaning, but they are also part of something my husband and I still — even after being “home” for a decade — can’t bring ourselves to join: the school car line.
The car line at our neighborhood elementary school is seemingly never-ending. It snakes around the corner of an otherwise beautiful centuries-old brick school. In the cars sit devoted parents who want the best for their children, which also seems to include polluting the air and constipating the streets.
But beyond the environmental consequences of the car line, something feels even more detrimental: American parenting culture.
Opposite the Swiss version, which promotes independence from the time a child can walk, American parenting culture seems to say to the child: I’m in charge of getting you to school — you have no agency. If it’s cold, I’ll keep you warm. If it’s raining, I’ll keep you dry. If it’s snowing, sure, wear your sneakers, I’ll drive you. If you’re late for school, it’s not your fault, it’s mine.
But in Switzerland, where I learned to parent, children as young as five walk or bike to school alone. They wear rubber pants and boots if it’s raining. If there is ice on the streets, they fall and get up again. Parents don’t drive children to school or hover at the playground while constantly telling their child to share, to say they’re sorry, to be nice.
Instead, I found that Swiss parenting basically boils down to a concept of benign neglect, where kids learn to manage themselves. And since I became a parent in Switzerland, I internalized this parenting style — and learned to appreciate it to a point where I still practice it.
Chantal Panozzo
When I first moved to Switzerland, I was homesick
My husband and I moved to Switzerland in 2006 for a job opportunity. When Swiss people didn’t honor my need for American-sized personal space, pushing ahead of me while getting on the train, I missed the polite way many Americans wait in line. When my Swiss neighbor took a year to tell me her first name, I would pine for the random American stranger who would tell me their life story with little formality or filter. And when the stores weren’t open on Sunday, I silently wished for a Target shopping spree.
But after a few years, even my Swiss friends would tell me that I was more Swiss than the Swiss. My husband and I could eat my neighbor’s 30 slices of raclette in one sitting. Instead of wishing I was shopping, I hiked on Sundays and actively sought out new routes.
Parenting culture in the US was the biggest shock when I returned
I figured that moving back to my own country eight and a half years later would be hard — especially because we were relocating to care for a sick parent. But I figured that I’d eventually get over the initial cultural shock. And for the most part, I have.
I love owning a house — something that’s almost impossible to do in Switzerland, where many live in tiny apartments with shared laundry rooms. I love having casual conversations with people at Trader Joe’s. And I appreciate the big, wide world of American personal space and also treasure living close to my parents. But when it comes to parenting culture, I still struggle to accept the lack of freedom we give our children, perhaps because it’s the very thing we say our country stands for.
Somehow, at the same time Americans celebrate “freedom,” the parents who give their children just that are somehow viewed as foreign.
Chantal Panozzo
Now 12 years old, my daughter still gets comments from parents about walking to school alone. The gym teacher indirectly does too; she sends notes home when my daughter is the only one wearing snow boots instead of gym shoes.
Today, my daughter has freedoms that many of her coddled American peers do not. That’s because instead of constantly wondering “what can I do for my daughter?” My internalized Swissness reminds me to ask something more important; namely, “what should I not do for her?” This isn’t lazy parenting, but rather a deeply thoughtful process about how I can raise a child who is self-sufficient.
Recently, I suffered from Covid for six weeks. Then for about six more weeks it was almost impossible for me to rise in the mornings. One day, I opened my eyes and realized it was 8:15 a.m. In a panic, I stumbled downstairs and that’s when I saw it: Coat gone. Backpack gone. Daughter gone. Even though I had been sleeping, I had still somehow been parenting: My daughter had gone to school before I’d even gotten out of bed.
And if that isn’t a Swiss parenting win in an otherwise American world, then I don’t know what is.
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