My earliest recollections are of exploring the untamed woods, trailing behind my older brother. Growing up in the secluded hills of Northern California, our days were spent beneath the sprawling canopy of trees, where we picked wild berries, caught frogs, and even made trips to the dump just to watch bears rummage through the trash.
Sometimes, luck was on my side, and my brother would let me ride on his bike handlebars. Back then, helmets were a rarity—just gravel roads, steep hills, and scraped knees. I still vividly remember the day I fell on a decayed log, my hands covered in tiny splinters that my mom painstakingly removed while I slept. I can still recall the earthy scent of the rain-soaked ground, the taste of my salty tears, and the way my palms looked like twisted train tracks.
My parents were warm and attentive but gave us the freedom to roam. They trusted us to navigate the world, believing that while risks existed, the lessons and adventures outdoors far outweighed them. We returned home not because they demanded it, but because the aroma of my mom’s cooking—be it her famous Swedish meatballs or chile rellenos—was too enticing to resist.
Now, as a mother myself, I find myself nestled in my own forest with two children. However, the landscape of parenting has shifted dramatically. I often grapple with my instincts and the modern expectations of what parenting should be. Can my son really bike a quarter-mile down the dirt road to his friend’s house? Is it acceptable for them to explore the magic rocks on their own? Should I really let them run around naked, free as the day they were born?
Yet, the whispers of modern parenting echo in my mind. What about bears, dangerous strangers, and the unpredictability of the world? Allowing my kids to run wild with their tangled hair and muddy faces feels risky, almost reckless. The rise of helicopter parenting has instilled a constant sense of anxiety. Society seems to have collectively decided that children are incapable of making sound decisions, necessitating constant supervision.
As a result, I’m often hesitant to leave my kids in the car for a quick errand; the fear of judgment looms large. I remember the hours my brother and I spent alone in the car, creating games or simply daydreaming, while our mom enjoyed her shopping. I can’t help but think she’d have preferred that peaceful solitude over my incessant pleas for toys that promptly broke.
My heart longs to let my children revel in the wildness of childhood, crafting unforgettable memories, while my mind is bombarded with worst-case scenarios. What if something goes wrong? What if they get hurt?
To the modern definition of motherhood, I say no thank you. I reject the notion of a carefully curated childhood filled with khaki pants and Tupperware parties, where the greatest danger is a power outage that interrupts screen time. Childhood should not be confined to white walls and parental control over every little detail.
Instead, childhood is about the exhilaration of running so fast you think you might take flight. It’s about dirty hands, tousled hair, and a willingness to scrape your knees in pursuit of adventure. It’s the spark of imagination that arises from simply staring at a blade of grass for hours. It’s about falling on that rotten wood just to feel alive. I want my children to experience days that they will remember with such clarity that nostalgia will tug at their hearts.
When I asked my mom if she ever worried about our escapades in the forest, her reply was a look of disbelief. “Not at all! You were out there having fun!” I admire her carefree spirit.
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In summary, I believe in allowing my children the freedom to explore and learn from their experiences, even as modern parenting norms pull me in the opposite direction. It’s crucial that we give them the space to create their own adventures, just as my parents did for me.