Time throttles closer and each week, A asks, "Mommy, have you signed me up, yet?" I look at my nine-year-old and sigh. "Are you sure you're ready to spend an entire week at camp? You won't be able to call or see us at all. No texting either." Way to crush her joy, Scrooge. Should I mention the bears?
"Oh, I know. I really want to go." Hesitantly, I fill out the online form then sit with my finger perched precariously above the send button. An entire week at camp. My mind checks off the list of all that could go wrong: she could become homesick, she could get injured, bitten by a spider, or worse, a snake. What if a crazed maniac rampages through the camp.....why is my head even going there? She could throw a tantrum and embarrass herself. What if she doesn't know how to make her bed, put on her sunscreen, spell a simple word? What if there's nothing she'll eat? What if the other girls are unkind to her? What if those socialization fears others have about homeschoolers are founded? What if I miss her? The silent litany continues as my finger wavers between the close button and the send button. Finally, I take a deep breath and press send, registering my baby girl for camp.As I ponder my hesitancy to send my daughter to camp, I realize that many of my fears are rooted in a deep-seated insecurity about my own parenting skills and how her behavior will reflect on my own lacking as a mom. The other fears are genuine concerns about her welfare so far from home (really camp was an entire hour and a half away.) Most, though, lie in an inability to let go and come to terms with a daughter who is growing into a young woman. I'm halfway through the critical years of parenting, and this will be the first real test of how well we are preparing our girl for the real world. I suddenly find myself wanting to cling and hover rather than release, which is pretty much the point of parenting, the releasing, not the hovering.
It seems that I'm not the only parent who struggles with releasing my grip on my children. One need not look too far to see the disturbing headlines. From Psychology Today, "Helicopter Parenting: It's Worse Than You Think." This article proceeds to detail how the parents of 25-year-old graduate students are calling admissions offices to assist their child in getting admitted. Parents are actually tagging along on job interviews, and the kids are welcoming it. I can just picture the mom dabbing her tongue to a napkin and wiping Johnny's mouth half-way during the questioning.
The Washington Post paints the same bleak picture with its article "How Helicopter Parents are Ruining College Students." Colleges have become surrogate parents for kids who can't resolve conflict with roommates. Deans are dealing with "she took my shirt without asking." Police are being called to set mouse traps for skittish coeds. We're paralyzing our children. Rates of anxiety and depression are skyrocketing among children because we aren't allowing them to fail, risk, or make decisions. Colleges can't keep up with the demand for counseling.
I find myself caught in this trap so often as a mom. It's so easy to coddle and protect. Society is so obsessed with coddling and protecting that I sometimes find myself questioning parenting decisions like sitting at a picnic table reading while my children play one hundred yards away at the playground. I remember walking to the park with my siblings from my grandparents while the adults chatted and canned vegetables. My mom couldn't see us or hear us. My cousins and I spent our days winding through the countryside not to return home until dusk with narry an adult. Is it really that dangerous for our children or are we watching too much CSI? Isn't it ridiculous when "free range" parents are arrested for allowing their preteens to ride the subway alone? The damage from micromanaging everything from our children's science projects to career decisions isn't minor or short-term. It's affecting them well into the future, leaving employers and future spouses baffled.
Every day offers a new opportunity to allow my children to safely take risks and to fail. We, as a society, must change our attitude concerning failure. We've begun celebrating failure when it forces us to try harder. Our homeschool mantra is mistakes are ok because that's how we learn. Children who are allowed to fail in the safety of their homes become more resilient adults. Of course, we shouldn't allow our children to take dangerous, life-threatening risks, but most risks aren't that dramatic. How we teach our children to handle failure is critical, which means despite a deep desire to prevent them from ever feeling pain, we have to sometimes watch them fall. Preparing a path filled with lollipops and daisies is not preparing our children for the dog-eat-dog real world.
So often, I find myself stepping in to rescue my daughter from messes she created herself, but I have to remind myself that I'm not preparing her for life. I'm handicapping her. When she doesn't practice piano or finish a project, I must allow her to bear the brunt of the consequence that choice brings. Sometimes its easier to save our children because it preserves the peace. We don't have to deal with tantrums or breakdowns or bad grades, but that short-term ease will result in long-term detriment. I often find myself praying for the courage to stop taking the path of least resistance.
My own mom taught me two very valuable lessons as a young woman. When I tried out for cheerleader my junior year, I didn't make the squad, and I was devastated. I lived in the era before parents filed lawsuits to get their kids onto teams. If you weren't good enough, you didn't make the team, and that year I simply wasn't good enough. My mom empathized and encouraged me to try again next year. That afternoon, a male friend had sent flowers and stopped by to see how tryouts went. My ego was so bruised that I refused to respond. Rather than excusing my behavior or filling my head with a bunch of nonsense about how I was robbed and how I should have been chosen/the judges were blind, my mom called me out and reminded me that the world didn't revolve around whether or not I made cheerleader. I learned to graciously accept disappointment and moved on to a very satisfying year as junior class president. I wasn't placed on the team when I didn't deserve to be, but I survived and learned to deal with disappointment and embarrassment. My mom taught me the world wasn't just about me and when at first I don't succeed to try again or to try something new. My mom chose not to create in me an attitude of entitlement but one of humility. (Thanks, mom!)When I was a freshman in college, a naive eighteen year old, my mom allowed my sister, who was a junior in high school, and me to drive to Virginia to visit a friend at UVA during spring break. I remember my mom handing us my dad's giant bag cell phone, explaining roaming charges, then waving as we backed down the driveway. This is the point where I would have run headlong down the drive and jumped onto the back of my sister's little red BMW and tagged along, (mother/daughter weekend anyone?) but if my mom had concerns, she didn't register them. She stoically stood by as my sister and I drove off into the sunrise. My mom gave us the gift of a lifetime, and despite her desire to hang on, she chose to let go, and I'm sure pray without ceasing, allowing my sister and me to reap the benefits that weeklong road trip. My mom taught me to trust God and to trust my children.
When it comes down to it, my children aren't really my own. They are entrusted to me by a loving God who loves them even more than I. He's asked me to prepare them for the world. He's assured us that in this world there will be trouble. Our heavenly father doesn't smooth the path for us, so why do we think we should smooth the path for our children? Yet, he does reassure us that He's overcome the world and that He will never leave us or forsake us. He even reminds us that trials develop endurance, endurance develops character, and character develops hope. The Creator of the Universe designed life so that the trials and obstacles develop our character and ultimately our hope. Those don't come without the trial. This is what I cling to whenever I find myself parenting from a place of fear rather than from a place of trust. Each time I choose fear, self-preservation, or ease, I rob God the opportunity to develop my character and the character of my children. I also exhibit a lack of trust. My children are going to get hurt; my focus needs to be on helping them learn to handle it, not preventing it from happening. Think on your own life. When have the biggest breakthroughs come or the most valuable lessons been learned? Is it through the trials or in the ease?
I arrive at camp at the end of the week to find my baby girl beaming. She's eager to introduce me to new friends. (See homeschooling kids aren't socially awkward.) She isn't sunburned or stinky. In fact, she's glowing and is eager to tell me all about movie night, canoeing, swimming, singing, and all the other adventures she experienced that week. She did get homesick, and not only did she get homesick, she threw up when she ate something that didn't settle with her. And, you know what else, she survived. It was through the homesickness that her friends were able to rally around her and show her support, thus deepening the friendships. She survived a moment of vulnerability and learned to lean on others. She learned that she can survive a week without her mommy, and I learned that I must be doing something right because the counselors shared what a lovely, polite girl she is. Most importantly, A learned that she is resilient, capable, and strong. Lessons she would probably not have learned sitting in the safety of her home.
2 comments:
I love this!!
I love this!!
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