by Shelley Abreu
Each morning, after my two girls wake me, I shuffle out to the kitchen to fix juice for them and coffee for me. As I fill the coffee pot and their sippy cups, I stare out the window at my favorite part of our home: the small river that cuts through our backyard.
This morning as I look out, I watch a pair of mallard ducks ride
the gentle current back and forth. The female duck tries to paddle
upstream to our neighbor's but gets caught in a swirl of water
and is forced back to her partner's side. Elise, my almost
three-year old, laughs as she watches. Then she asks if she and her
five-year-old sister, Julia, can go down back and fish.
Up until a few weeks ago, I would have denied her request. A
chronic worrier, I don't let my children outside without close
supervision. But with a new baby in the house, I'm not able to
accompany them outside as often as they would like. My husband,
however, is less cautious. Just recently I returned from a morning
out, to find him in the kitchen with doors and windows open. The
girls were outside by themselves casting their hook-less fishing
rods into the river. Before I was able to chastise him for his
reckless disregard for their safety, he convinced me they were
completely fine. He could see and hear them perfectly well.
Furthermore, he insisted, both girls know to keep out of the
water.
I've been underestimating my children's ability to handle a
little freedom. I agreed to let them stay. I took
over in the kitchen keeping watch as I cleaned and prepared dinner
for later. After an hour, the girls still content playing in the
yard and by the river, I moved into the bedroom and opened the
windows. They played for another hour as I folded laundry. When
they came inside, they were ecstatic over their newfound freedom. I
had to admit, I was just as ecstatic. For once, I was able to get
something done without feeling guilty for parking them in front of
the TV.
Emboldened by our success, I've continued to let them go
outside alone. I keep the doors and windows open and keep to the
rooms I can watch them from, but after a few days I've relaxed
enough to pop into other rooms, to fetch the vacuum, a baby toy, or
our cordless phone. I'm still mindful of the potential hazards
of the river, but I also think I've been underestimating my
children's ability to handle a little freedom.
When I was three and my brother was seven we would walk to a local
Country Store about a mile away. After we purchased some candy,
we'd head over to a pond behind the store where my brother
would fish while I played on some rocks along the shore's
edge.
One time, just as my brother was casting his line behind his
shoulder, I sprang up in the air to jump onto a nearby rock. His
hook snagged my chin as I landed. My brother leaped over to me and
carefully extracted the hook. I was scared. But he reassured me I
was totally fine. "Don't cry," he said,
"It's no big deal, I'll get it out." I didn't
cry. He got it out. And everything was fine.
This story is family legend now. People marvel at our luck, including myself. "We were so young to be all by ourselves," we say. "We could have gotten really hurt," others comment. But is that the truth?
Lenore Skenazy, author of Free-Range Kids: Giving Our Kids the Freedom We Had
without Going Nuts with Worry, thinks maybe not. After she
allowed her then nine-year-old son to travel home by himself on the
New York City subway, and then wrote about it, she received an
onslaught of criticism. Now she not only has a new book about the
topic, she has a website that encourages parents to stop being
overprotective.
I remember feeling safe and free as we explored on our
own. Skenazy's overall message is, while there
are things we need to worry about as parents, much of it is
exaggerated. She reminds us that statistics show this generation isn't in any
more danger than children in previous eras. Through her book
and website she's promoting a more laid-back approach to
parenting — one that encourages parents to trust their children
with more independence.
Read more
here.
