Life Lessons from Little House on the Prairie

I often find myself longing for the days of “Little House on the Prairie.” I realize that would mean that a common cold could result in a near death experience, but it might just be worth it to hear my children respond to my every request with a polite “Yes, ma’am.” And I think I would be OK with getting up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and gather eggs rather than having to pack up four kids and drive to the store just for those two must-have items.

I have been trying, for years, to get any of my four children to watch and appreciate this epic saga as I did. So far, just the other night, my oldest daughter came out of her room in tears telling me that she finally watched some “Little House” and “a sweet puppy died and it was really, really sad” and demanded to know WHY I would make her watch something so sad!

While I feel bad that her first viewing experience was a bit heartbreaking, I believe it would serve my children well to discover a time when children had nothing but the clothes on their back and the love of their Ma and Pa, and felt like the luckiest kids in the world. I would love for them to see Laura Ingall’s face light up at the sight of a only single shiny penny in her Christmas stocking.

I want them to see kids who worked hard, really hard, for the greater good of the whole family, and they never complained. I want them to admire kids who never thought of themselves, who asked for nothing, and who felt genuine remorse if they NEEDED a pair of shoes or a new pencil because they knew and appreciated how very hard their Pa worked for his money.

I would love for my children to witness how much these children enjoyed life without television and cell phones and computers and how they could blissfully entertain themselves for hours and make up hundreds of games with a ball or a stick and a buddy or two.

I want them to take note of the fact that their chores thus far consist of feeding their pets, folding laundry and emptying the dishwasher, and if they are not careful, they could be out plowing fields, (or something equally laborious.)

I need them to appreciate the fact that while I am chauffeuring four kids all over town, to various activities, children used to walk three miles just to go fishing with their pal.

I want them to count their blessings that they have never been punished with a belt.

I think that they could learn a lot about how to turn the other cheek to a persistent bully, and how to push her down a hill in a wheelchair when she crosses the line and has it coming.

I want them to see and learn that money does not buy happiness or good manners.

I want them to have faith, even when life is full of struggles and sacrifice.

I want them to believe in “love at first sight” and “’til death do us part,” even when things are not always so “happily ever after.”

I want them to be more thankful for their beautiful life, but to know that life is full of hard knocks: pets die, young girls go blind, little sisters fall down an abandoned well, crops get destroyed, kids get trapped in snow storms while walking three miles home from school. And I want them to remember all of this when they are whining about their “annoying brothers” barging into their room all the time, or because I didn’t get the “sparkly” pencil case for back-to-school, or how I make them take the bus to school instead of driving them.

And perhaps most importantly, I want them to appreciate the values of a society that genuinely cared about its own. I want them to observe and believe in a “love thy neighbor/help thy neighbor/do unto others” kind of world. The kind where people actually live that way, rather than just preaching about it, and demanding that everyone else live that way, and constantly arguing over exactly which way is actually “the Lord’s way.”

We could all learn a lot from the Ingalls family and the residents of Walnut Grove. They were not easy times, but they were simpler, more compassionate times when nothing was taken for granted. In the wise words of Charles “Pa” Ingalls, “How can you ever know true happiness if you never feel real sorrow?”

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