Let’s face it, somewhere along the way, probably when child rearing became a topic or an area of expertise or an aisle at Barnes and Noble, we started babying our kids.
When I was growing up my mom kicked me out of the house and I actually wasn’t allowed back in until lunch. Snow days were fine for my mom because she was definitely not going to spend her day worrying about where the four of us were or how to entertain us.
These days, Dad’s track their teenage daughters on electronic devices, children aren’t allowed to walk to school alone until third grade and a 2013 kid’s idea of getting their own dinner means stopping at Cook-Out before they come home.
They can’t do laundry, change their own tires, or wipe their own bottoms.
That’s right, I said, “Wipe their own bottoms.”
I’ve heard many a story of preschool age kids who can’t clean themselves.
I’ve heard stories of college age kids whose own mothers sign them up for their classes and drive down to the campus to take them to Student Health when they are sneezing too much.
My own dad dropped me off at VCU and then asked me if I could possibly find a ride home, come Christmas break.
Let’s be clear about something, I have smothered my kids.
Donovan had a pacifier and wore diapers so long I thought we might have to call in a psychologist and an orthodontist at the same time. At the beach every year until this last, I was like Donovan’s own personal little army against danger and it took Beau growing a beard before I was able to not eagle eye him the entire time we were on the sand.
But just when I think there’s no hope for me… I let go. Some people let go in little bouts but I let go like ripping off a band-aid or pulling out a loose tooth.
Two years ago, I let Donovan use at hot stove at age 9.
He made us dinner, on the stove, and all was well and then he did the dishes.
This year, I let Donovan walk home from school alone, and then I let him walk around the mall with just his cousin, when the day before he wasn’t allowed to walk across the block.
Nothing terrible happened at the mall except when D and his cousin Eliz tried to use their Visa gift cards and were short 83 cents and spent an embarrassing 30 seconds fumbling in their pockets like they were looking for change which they knew for a fact they didn’t have.
And guess what, D walked to school and still does everyday and he loves it. It makes him feel like a big kid, which of course he is becoming.
I don’t track him.
I don’t drive behind him with binoculars.
Life is a chance and we just have to strap our helmets on, give ourselves as much information and as many guidelines as we can and head out the door and so do our kids, because they are growing up whether we like it or not and if we are always the ones to protect them then how will they ever learn to fend for themselves?
So I rip off the Band-aid again and again and fight my natural urge to fold my baby up like a handkerchief and put him in my pocket every time we go outside because let’s face it, he is getting a little to big to be in there.
About Rebecca Suder