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The Gift of Letting Go

Recently, a friend with grown children commented that the main thing she’d do over in raising her kids is be less anxious. Understandable and laudable, but easily said in hindsight. It’s difficult not to fret during the day-to-day trials and tribulations of seeing children through to young adulthood — not that our responsibilities and guidance always end there.

But just how much we fret and the degree to which we curtail their activities with their safety in mind is worthy of contemplation, and is the subject of Wenda Reed’s column, “Risky Business,” in this issue. I have a 9-year-old son, and it made me think — a lot. Not that I consider myself an overprotective mother, but I realize that most of his activities involve pretty careful supervision by adults, whether it’s playing sports, hiking with us, or just playing in the yard with his buddies.

Another friend climbed Mount Washington this summer with a couple and their 13-year-old son, her godson. She and the mother of the boy expressed how difficult it was watching him scale the mountain; he and his father climbing ahead of them, with only an ice axe and crampons to keep him from falling. Climbing mountains in the Northwest this summer was the boy’s own choice for his “coming of age” gift, one the family was well prepared for, so I guess you could call it a calculated risk.

What worries me more is what we think we’re prepared for but aren’t. For instance, I was walking a narrow road along the water on Bainbridge Island a few weeks after school had let out for the summer, when a car carrying four girls sitting in an open trunk with their legs dangling (feet practically scraping the ground) sped past me and screeched to a halt in front of a pier. I experienced several emotions at once: anger because they’d almost hit my dog; some amusement at the antics of teens, freed for the summer; and concern for their safety.

I wondered if their parents knew what they were up to while “hanging out with friends” for the day. Of course they didn’t. And then came a big wave of fear with the realization that one day I, too, would not always know what my son was up to. I would have to trust that I’d raised him to that point to have good judgment and not to do anything too stupid. (None of the stupid things I did anyway…) I’d make him get a full-time job during the summers, too. Just kidding. Maybe not full time.

Ugh. Letting go is so hard to do, but we have to — I guess — if our kids are going to be able to test themselves and learn to cope in the big world. After all, many of our kids haven’t experienced independence to the degree we did as children. As Wenda points out in her column, most kids aren’t allowed to run wild around the neighborhood or ride their bikes miles from home as we did. So, maybe the best thing we can do for ourselves and our children is to be less anxious. We can try anyway.

Karen Reed-Matthee
Editor

©August 2007 Caliope Publishing Company