This week it was reported that four children survived for 40 days on their own after a Colombian plane crash in the Amazon jungle.  The children were 13, 9, 4 and 11 months and had only a bag of flour and each other to rely on. 

This is a revelation to me on so many levels.  My own children have brutally brawled over who would sleep on a rollaway bed in a Four Seasons hotel room.  I’m not saying my kids don’t have grit, but one sleeps with a satin sleep mask due to “photosensitivity” and the other, given a bag of flour in the jungle, would ask for a gluten-free option.  Both have reacted with such downtrodden hopelessness at a middle seat in coach that it’s tricky to imagine them getting a fire going with two sticks.   

The children in Columbia walked for miles, found shelter, and subsisted on fruits and foliage they knew to be safe.  My children balk at almost all fruit, instead insisting on Juice Press smoothies, provided they are delivered by DoorDash.  It’s hard to imagine them having the capacity to survive in a rainforest when they won’t apply sunscreen that can’t be sprayed, and lack the muscle tone required for toilet-flushing.  Their familiarity with animals extends only to our Goldendoodle, Tilly, a dog they have never walked, and to them, hard labor refers to the traffic heading home from the Hamptons in September.  It wouldn’t occur to either to use mass transportation or walk when they could Uber, to cook instead of ordering, or to brave the elements if they could instead watch Netflix from their beds.  Truly, their only preparation for living in a jungle is the hot, dank stench of their own bedrooms.

My sons would equate foraging for food to frequenting deli buffets and have known hunger only during an extremely long wait for Wagu beef at RH Guest House.  I’m not saying that raising children in New York City is antithetical to wilderness readiness but once, when parking our car on a woodsy street to visit family, my son asked if we had any bear spray. We were in Closter, New Jersey.

I’d like to think that the possibility of toughening these kids up still exists, but when I tried to suggest a family camping trip, I was told, “Mom, why are you interrupting my reflexology!”  It is with some shame that I realize that to my children, the Amazon is only a place to buy hand lotion.  Still, I marvel at the resilience of those four Columbian children, wish them well, and look forward to their forthcoming TEDTalk.