Oh, how I hate to be in the position of reining in my 9 year old just when she wants to spread her wings a bit.
For years I confidently relied upon my daughter's sensiblity when she was out of sight temporarily in our garden, at a party or even in the local park. From a young age, she has been poised and relatively mature. So, my eyes would occasionally scan the area and my ears would perk up to listen out for her, but once I had detected her presence, I would relax and continue a conversation. I have never hovered over her while she climbed the totem pole in the park, swung like a monkey on the apparatus or climbed a tree. She was confident, so I was too.
I must admit that I have lived vicariously through my daughter's adventures, including her natural ability to make friends at nursery school, on airplanes or on the beach. I was a shy and cautious child who was afraid of the ball in every sport, so I revel in her eagerness to go off for sleepovers with a friend, and her professed interest to bungie jump or go skydiving. That is what makes me somewhat uncomfortable now, wondering whether my earlier confidence was unfounded or my recently acquired protectiveness is over the top.
Our leafy suburb has one foot in London and the other in Greenbelt pastures and fields. It feels safe and friendly, but in truth, with a college and a bus station down the road, anyone could be around. When my daughter and 2 friends disappeared within 5 minutes of arriving home from school today. I panicked. All the usual hideaways were empty and no one answered my loud calls. I went around and around for 10 minutes, assuming that they were one step ahead of me, or playing tricks, before I phoned my husband and one of the other mothers. Suddenly, I heard high voices on the path behind our garden and saw 3 smiling girls clutching their favourite soft toys. After my initial relief, I ordered them into the house for a talk about being responsible, careful and considerate. They could tell that my anger was more about fear, as I made them sit jammed in together with their stuffed bears, dogs and cows, on the bottom step while I lectured them.
When I was 10, I played outside with children in the neighbourhood every afternoon. Very shortly after that, I was riding my bike to friends' houses a mile away. I recall being taught to be sensible and safe, but no memories convey a feeling that my parents worried we would be approached by strangers; taken or hurt. My father laughs in wonder that, in his youth he could ride the buses and subway in New York City, play out on the street in Brooklyn until dark and get up to mischief with chemistry sets. I'm not sure whether there was less danger in the world, or parents didn't share as much information about it with their children. I know that they loved us and took good care of us within the cultural norms of the time and nothing terrible happened. I think the feeling was that nothing bad could touch us in the Brady Bunch world we lived in.
What I do know is that somehow there is less innocence and freedom for my children than there was for me and my brothers. I mourn that, more than a little. How sad that children need to be "street-smart" now instead of just playing, creating and imagining. The news programs on television bring all sorts of dangers into their subconsciousness: war, tsunamis and earthquakes, kidnappings and suicide bombers. They are matters of fact by which we, thankfully, have not been physically hurt. But, the auxiliary damage has seeped in to our lives. So, despite my daughter's new habit of rolling her eyes at my protectiveness, I know that I cannot help worrying about open bedroom windows, camping out in the garden and walking to the shops at the bottom of the road. My children are way too precious to take chances, and so are yours.
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