The UK - not a good place for children

On Wednesday UNESCO published a report that puts British youth at the bottom of the pile in terms of happiness. I must be psychic or something, because I was travelling down on the train Monday afternoon to spend the week working away from home, and writing a blog entry on exactly this topic. Being away from home always turns me a little bit introspective as I sit alone in my hotel room.

Every generation, we often read or hear, looks at the generation that comes after it and thinks some variation of: "I'm glad I'm not growing up today" or "Things were so much nicer/ cleaner/ gentler/ more polite/ easier/ simpler when I was young."

I guess we forget, as we get older, how resilient young people are. But it seems to me that as the world becomes faster and more complex, they need to be resilient to even cope with everyday life. Children and young people need, even more than they did when I was young, to have somewhere where they feel no (or a minimum of) pressure to conform. A place where they can be themselves or, simply, where they can just BE. That place should be home, but for so many "home" is just one more place where they are pressured in one way or another. Maybe their parents have split up, they have stepmothers or fathers or stepsiblings to cope with, vying for attention from their own parent. They may have chosen, or been forced into, various extra-curricular activities, or intensive academic options. They are bombarded from all sides by media and advertising pressures - the need to have "the right stuff" - the latest gadget, the "right" friends, listen to the best music on the newest MP3 player, wear the trendiest clothes.

Today's world makes me realise how lucky I was to grow up in a stable loving home, with a Mum and a Dad, some good friends, and never to have to worry about where I would be sleeping. Does time lend those days a rosy glow, when in fact it was never as good as I remember? Sure, we didn't have a lot of spare money, but that's a common story. Listen to any celebrity chat show, and most of the guests will say "we never had much, but we were 'appy." It's a cliché, I know, but it's also true: money doesn't buy happiness. And basically Wednesday's UNESCO report said exactly that.

So what? Well, thing is that this is so close to home for me that I can smell it. My lot have two homes with parents in them (sometimes), sleepovers, boyfriends' houses, school trips, etc, etc. They certainly have more material possessions, and spend more time away from home than I ever did. But are they happier than I was, or even as happy? I don't know. And I worry they're not.

In common with most parents, I never wanted anything for them more than I wanted them to be happy. To have a stable home life and at least one place, one real home, where they could experience that stress-free sense of being able to get away from the cares of the world. When you can shut the front door and just do what you like. Be totally yourself. Even scream and yell if you need to, and know you'll be supported and loved instead of screamed back at.

Seven years ago I finally admitted I'd failed to give them that in the "marital home" and I don't think I'll ever be entirely free of the guilt that goes with knowing a lot of their stresses and worries derive directly from the time I walked out on their mother. I can never know how bad things would have got had I stayed, and I take courage from those who told me at the time and from personal experience that it was better to leave than put them through all the rowing and fighting that would have ensued.

I guess I'm trying to compensate in some small way by giving them some stability and fun when they stay with us, but it's a double-edged sword. Our time together is compressed virtually 14-fold, so it is in essence a false security. It's not permanent (that is, it's not 24x7), no matter how much any of us would like it to be so. That's not to say we don't have great fun - we do - and I look forward to our next weekend together from the moment I drop them off after the last. But real life isn't 100% fun. Often there are things going on for them that mean fun should really be put on hold while we deal with the issue. At least, that's how it would be in a "normal" family. It's natural for young people to have worries and fears. It's part of growing up. Exams, friends, boyfriends, career choices, great philosophical questions, or just feeling down in the dumps and needing a cuddle...any and all of these are put on a back burner because we have to cram 14 days of fun into, effectively, one day.

So I think what I'm slowly getting my head round is that it's unlikely, any time soon, that my kids are going to come to me with their problems. This is a revelation to me, because I always wanted to be able to do that for them. To be the kind of parent they could come to with anything and talk it through. Try to resolve it together, or mitigate it, or just present a united front to the world if it can't be avoided or fixed.

But then I think: did I ever do that with my parents when I was 18, or 13? No, I don't think I did. Half the time they didn't know what I was getting up to. I used to catch the bus into town when I was 12 or 13 and hang around the malls. My Mum didn't find out about that until I was in my twenties. Maybe all my kids need is to know they can bring their problems to me whenever they want to, even though they'll probably never want to. Maybe that's all any of us can ever do. Maybe I should stop worrying about it.