Growing up, my mother never kept a watchful eye on me. Instead, she encouraged me to head outdoors while she tended to her chores—baking, cleaning, and socializing. It was a different era when children played outside, allowing parents to accomplish their tasks without constant supervision.
Today, I observe my daughter engrossed in her own imaginative world, constructing a castle from her blocks. The sunlight glimmers in her delicate blue eyes, prompting her to shift positions as she narrates the saga of her baby princess and the watchful dinosaur sisters. In these moments, a twinge of guilt sometimes creeps in. Shouldn’t I be sitting beside her, teaching her letters, or showing her affection by being physically present?
But then I recall my own childhood. I often encourage my children, including my son, to embrace the great outdoors, even though we live amidst a forest teeming with wildlife. Once, when my son was just three years old, he experienced an exhilarating encounter with a bear that wandered too close for comfort. That day remains etched in his memory. There are certainly risks involved—coyotes, mountain lions, and other creatures lurk in the woods. Yet, I set rules, such as ensuring they don’t play alone at twilight.
In today’s society, parents are bombarded with advice to monitor their children’s every move, shielding them from every potential mishap. The prevailing notion is to raise “bubble-wrapped” children, safely observing the world from behind a pristine window. It’s true that danger exists, but I believe that hovering can rob children of invaluable experiences—stories and lessons that shape who they are.
For instance, my husband once made a questionable decision as a child when he fell on a hatchet while alone in the woods. Rather than seeking immediate help, he chose to pack the wound with mud, recalling the practices of Native Americans. Now, he carries a scar that tells a story, a reminder of his adventures.
Scars, both physical and emotional, map our journeys. By shielding our children too much, we risk raising them to be smooth and unblemished, yet directionless. I want my children to feel the freedom to explore, to climb trees, and to learn from their own choices—good or bad.
I lived a full life, filled with experiences my mother was blissfully unaware of, and I want my children to have the same. They deserve to carve out their paths, complete with their own scars and stories.
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Summary
In parenting, I believe in allowing my children the freedom to explore and learn from their experiences rather than hovering over them constantly. This approach fosters independence, resilience, and valuable life lessons, all of which are crucial for their development.