This week’s weather has been lovely, with warm sunshine beckoning us to step outside and shake off the remnants of winter. What better way to embrace the early signs of spring than a trip to the park?
Taking four teenagers to the park is a vastly different experience than those outings from years past. My eldest just turned 20, a reality I’m still trying to come to terms with, while my youngest is an incredibly moody 12. Thankfully, there were no diaper bags to pack or snacks to prepare. No car seats to buckle or favorite toys to remember. We simply decided on a whim and headed out.
However, once we arrived, I found myself at a loss. I no longer needed to keep a watchful eye to prevent accidents or ensure my children didn’t harm themselves or anyone else. My attention wasn’t split among multiple kids. I didn’t need to help anyone up the slide or push them on the swings. So, I spent an hour sitting on a park bench feeling somewhat aimless.
In the past, park visits were often chaotic. I envisioned them as a break from the house—a time to relax and unwind—but they rarely turned out that way. Instead, they were filled with hyper-awareness regarding everything my kids did or said, along with guilt and embarrassment when they shared personal stories with strangers. Like the time my son loudly declared to a couple, “I watched my baby brother come out of my mom’s butt! It was soooo gross!”
What often grated on my nerves were the constant calls of “Hey, Mom! Look at this!” My oldest would shout these words no fewer than 47 times during each visit, from the top of the slide to the edge of the monkey bars. As the firstborn of four, I understood his need for attention, which I couldn’t always provide, especially when I was busy with younger siblings.
His pleas for my undivided focus sometimes irritated me more than they should have. When a small child asks you to “watch this,” the likelihood that what follows will be particularly impressive is only about 5%. My son’s attempts usually consisted of stumbling hops or silly faces, and sometimes he would just grin at me, trying to pull me into his world.
“Are you watching, Mom?” he would ask, ensuring I was fully engaged before attempting whatever mundane stunt he had in mind.
“I’m watching, buddy. Go ahead.”
And I would watch, even if his antics were hardly impressive. That was simply what mothers do—we watch, even when we might rather not.
This week at the park, I didn’t hear my oldest call out to me at all. Perhaps that’s why I felt so adrift, as if I no longer knew my role.
In just 13 days, he will be leaving for the Army.
Sitting silently next to me on the bench, he felt so far away. I could almost hear him whispering, “Hey, Mom, look at this,” as he prepares to spread his wings and fly away—strong, capable, and ready for what lies ahead. This time, what he’s about to do is truly remarkable, and I find it hard to watch, yet it’s more than worth it.
“I’m watching, buddy. Go ahead…”
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In summary, as my son transitions into adulthood, I am reminded of the bittersweet nature of parenting. The park, once filled with his childhood antics, now symbolizes his growth and readiness to take on the world.