My 11–soon to be 12—year old daughter, Ms. G, recently went for a walk with her friends after a meet/textbook drop off at her elementary school. She hadn’t seen her friends in person for months. Masked up and eager to spend some gabbing time with them—what was supposed to be a half hour get-together turned into a 1.5 hour ‘walk around’ affair. I should mention that her school is located in a quiet subdivision. She walked to her friend’s house so her friend could pick up her phone and then proceeded to the Starbucks, about two blocks away. I had already been at the Starbucks with my son for awhile. Many girls in her grade were headed to the coffee shop in small groups after the school assembly. I’ll admit I for one wasn’t a big fan of the idea, but I overrode my apprehension in favour of letting her go because I decided the social benefit outweighed my anxiety.
No, I didn’t follow her around but I did peek around the corner as I waited for her. Then, I had that conflicting moment that I think every parent should have—that desire to swoop in and help your child versus recognizing that the teachable moment requires you to do absolutely nothing.
As I peeked down the street waiting for her to round the corner I saw her plastic bag full of her school belongings rip open. Papers flew everywhere and she looked to be in utter amazement. She was with two other friends who tried in vain to put her things back into the plastic bag. I wanted to call out to her—rush over to help—but something inside me stopped me. Instead, I took a few steps back behind the trees and just waited. For what I don’t know, but I felt she needed to figure this out on her own. I told myself that she wasn’t in any danger and that it was necessary for her to brainstorm ideas to figure out how to get from point A to point B without my help.
Soon enough she called me and told me what had happened. She asked for my help so I told her to divide her belongings into three groups and ask her friends to each carry her things and continue walking, and that I would be there to assist her. I met her midway on foot. She looked desperate for help but I was proud of her and her friends for not giving up, and for calling me.
A small drop-in-the-bucket moment in time. An inconsequential moment really if you think about it—surely it was no big deal—but it meant the world to me. It showed me that she trusted me enough to call for help after she attempted to figure it out herself. I was proud of her, and I hope one day she will be proud of me for not rushing over. As parents, just because we can, doesn’t always mean we should. My fears and anxieties as a parent will be forever present, but I refuse to parent from this starting point. I want to use good judgement and make decisions based on practical risks, attainable benefits, and ultimately to make decisions that would ensure my children’s happiness. It won’t always be possible, but I sure as hell will always give it a try.
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 