Letting Go...

I always feel very proud when my children achieve independence milestones. It started out with little things, like watching Daniel make his very first purchase without me at his side. He had $5 pocket money in his brand new bright green wallet and he walked up to a clown at a circus and purchased a battery-powered hand-held fluorescent fan. The look on his face at that moment is tattooed in my mind - electrified excitement cloaked with anxiety, all the while casting looks back at me for reassurance as he completed his little transaction and received 50 cents change to put back into his brand new bright green wallet. I  actually cried a little with pride as I watched him. I loved sharing in the thrill he felt at having achieved something so significant and great; being witness to the flush of personal power he glowed in after accomplishing something for the first time. Priceless.

With Elliot it was letting him walk to school on his own for the first time. That was a big deal. He was shaking so much with excitement when he left that I nearly lost my nerve because I thought he might not concentrate hard enough on crossing the single road along his journey (actually just between us, I did follow him in stealth mode to calm my nerves and ensure his safe arrival). Sadly I couldn’t be present on that occasion to see his pride but I knew he’d feel it. When I let both boys walk home on their own for the first time it was the longest half hour of my life. Not that I’d let them know that... staring out the window down the driveway thinking they should be here by now... they should be here by now... Then as soon as I caught a glimpse of their little hats bobbing up the road I flung myself casually on the couch (heart thumping) and acted very nonchalantly as they came through the front door. “Hi guys! Good day?” I didn’t want let on how much of a big deal it was for me, I wanted them to own their pride and independence. For them, it was as if they’d been doing it their whole lives; that’s when I realised that for them these achievements are a natural progression. Our job as parents is simply to facilitate the process.

I think the two main challenges we face as ‘managers of the process’ are first to know when it’s appropriate (and safe) to let the rope out, and second to have the courage to take that leap of faith. My instinct is that one just feels when the time is right. If it doesn’t feel right then it probably isn’t. For me that works fine for simple things, like when it’s OK to let them go into the $2 shop on their own to make a purchase, or to walk to a friend’s house in the neighbourhood. I must admit though I’m a little more hesitant trusting my instincts when it comes to things I perceive to be more ‘dangerous’ or unknown, like bike riding after school to a friend’s house who doesn’t quite live in the neighbourhood or catching the bus with a friend who claims to be most proficient at catching buses and ‘knows all the timetables by heart.’ I guess that’s because I’ll lose some control at that point and feel a little out of my comfort zone. So the challenge becomes when is it OK to let that particular bit of rope out? Where’s the line between protecting or suppressing them to a smothering degree and setting them free to gain their independence? It’s a tough call. 

I got to thinking what my own childhood was like, but must admit I didn’t find much consolation in that in terms of how to best manage situations of freedom. My parents used to let me go and play at the creek with my friends when I was a tween. I’d be there all day - climbing willow trees, swimming in water holes and generally exploring. To be fair I was with my big brother, but he was only 13. My friend Emma and I also used to ride our Raleigh 20 bikes from Kawerau to Lake Rotoma for a swim, both of us wearing nothing but bikinis with our towels and a packed lunch slapped onto our carriers. Oh, and no helmets. The “Rotomas,” as that particular stretch of road is called, is one of the most hazardous stretches in the North Island, littered with white crosses in memory of those who attempted to navigate it and never lived to tell the story. I actually wonder now if I imagined the whole thing, it seems so surreal. Was that appropriate? Probably not. Since I’ve had my own children I’ve probed my parents about their seemingly casual attitude towards those events. That wasn’t letting the rope out, that was letting go of the rope entirely. They couldn’t really explain why they felt it was OK, they just did. Perhaps it was my Mother’s belief in God. I’ve spoken about this with many friends over the years and they all had very similar experiences. In my parents defence, and those of my friends, it was another time; another generation. So what’s different now? Would we let our children do that? I think I speak for all when I say no, we categorically would not. I know the reason our parents let go of the rope wasn’t because they cared for us any less than we do our own children and I’m hesitant to say it’s because they were more naive. So why? All I can think of (apart from unequivocal faith in a higher power) is that it’s related to the explosion of fear-mongering media and its extensive coverage. When we were children the biggest media event of the year was Telethon. Now you can’t turn on the news without hearing about the latest child abduction, drunk driver, or infant battering. There’s nothing positive to report. We’ve grown up in this explosion so we have an inherent fear our parents never had and as a consequence, an inherent need to protect our children more closely.

So what can we learn from it all? I think we can learn there has to be a considered resting place between fear and freedom when it comes to letting our children explore the world for themselves. We have to consider the way society is today but we also need to remember our children have a right to be set free to gain their independence without our own fears chaining them. This is a new generation and these are new times. The best we can do is ‘find the line in our own time.’

Mum’s the Word: