“Sure,” I replied as Ethan eagerly pulled on his rubber boots. The boys had been bickering since they arrived home from school, and a trip to the creek, hidden in the woods behind our house, seemed like the perfect solution to channel their energy. I was hoping for a break from reminding them to “be nice” or “use your words instead of fighting.”
Ethan and Noah rushed ahead, leaving me to trail behind. As I paused momentarily, I reflected on how much freedom I had as a child to explore my neighborhood, either solo or with friends. At just 6 years old, we are beginning to allow Ethan some time outdoors on his own. In today’s climate of heightened parenting vigilance, this feels somewhat rebellious. My husband and I check on him frequently from the window, despite having enjoyed much greater independence when we were young. However, two kindergarteners alone in the woods, one of them not even my child? I chose to follow them closely.
Swatting at the pesky mosquitoes that had seemingly appeared overnight, I followed the boys into the woods. My anxieties, heightened from breaking up their squabbles, eased as I absorbed the lush greenery and the soothing sound of the flowing creek. Ethan splashed across the water to the opposite bank, while Noah hurried over a fallen log connecting both sides. I held my breath, imagining the potential for a muddy tumble. “Be careful, boys!” I called out.
“Hey, Ethan!” a girl’s voice rang out. We turned to see a fifth-grader from the neighborhood descending the hill, her younger sister in tow. Ethan and Noah quickly joined them, now on the other side of the creek. I glanced down at my shoes, wishing I had chosen boots instead. I hesitated, pondering whether to cross the creek and keep an eye on the kids. The image of my own parents following me during my childhood escapades made me chuckle. Ethan, while headstrong, also possesses a cautious nature like mine. I decided to remain on my side of the creek as long as I could see them.
As I surveyed the surroundings, I often think about how fortunate my children are to grow up near a creek surrounded by dense woods. It brought a smile to my face, remembering how vast those woods seemed to me as a child. I recalled my own hours spent exploring what I thought was a grand forest on my way to my brother’s friend’s house. As an adult, driving through my old neighborhood, I realized that the “forest” was merely a scattering of trees.
“Hey, do you guys want to see a dead raccoon?” one of the girls exclaimed.
The words jolted me from my thoughts. “Uh, no, no, no,” I shouted across the creek, but the boys were already intrigued.
“Well, we’re not sure if it’s dead or not. It might just be hurt,” the older girl added. “Hey, I don’t think…” I started, but they weren’t listening. I briefly envisioned a sick, rabid raccoon lurking, ready to attack my son. It’s more likely the animal was indeed dead. The boys eagerly followed the girls, and I moved cautiously from the opposite bank, worrying about the potential emotional impact of witnessing a dead animal on my sensitive child.
“Ethan! Come back!” I called. They were already at the site. I could either leap across the creek to shield Ethan from seeing the unfortunate raccoon or let him experience this little rite of passage. After all, encountering a dead animal among friends can be an essential part of growing up.
When I was about eight, I was walking home alone when a motorcyclist sped by, tragically killing my best friend’s cat. While I was disturbed by the sight, I found myself captivated by the absurdity of the situation. My friend and I reenacted the scene countless times, one of us playing the motorcyclist, the other mimicking the cat’s tail spinning in the aftermath.
Though I was unsure if I had made the right choice by allowing Ethan to approach the raccoon, I reassured myself he would likely be fine. My own experience had only moderately traumatized me. Besides, if he struggled with it, his school has excellent resources, including a social worker, which I lacked as a child.
“Hey, it’s alive!” Ethan shouted as he came bounding back towards me.
“Cool!” Noah cheered.
“How do you know?” the younger girl asked.
“Its eyes were open!” Ethan exclaimed with excitement.
My heart swelled at my son’s innocence. The fifth-grade girl and I exchanged a knowing glance. At ten, she likely understood that an immobile raccoon with open eyes was, in fact, deceased. Suddenly, standing against the backdrop of the tall birch trees, Ethan appeared so small.
“Do you want to see, Mom?” he asked, extending his hand toward me to help me cross the creek. While we had seen deer and turkeys in our yard, a lifeless raccoon was an entirely new experience.
“That’s okay,” I replied, trying to maintain a neutral expression.
Shortly thereafter, the girls headed back up the hill toward their home, while Ethan, Noah, and I made our way back to ours.
“Hey, be gentle, boys!” I shouted as they playfully swung sticks at one another.
“We’re just playing Star Wars, Mom,” Ethan replied, grinning.
I sighed. There’s a lot to be said for the freedom I had growing up in the late ’70s and ’80s. My friends and I navigated conflicts and adventures independently, only returning home when things got out of hand.
Yet, there’s also significant value in being present for my children when possible. Today, I balanced my role as a protective parent while allowing Ethan to face some of life’s harsher truths. I witnessed him navigate the creek and confront the idea of a potentially dead animal, while still maintaining a childlike wonder about it.
While I may not always be there when my children venture into the woods or the wider world, today I was, and I feel fortunate for that.
If you’re seeking more information on parenting and child development, check out our post on home insemination or learn about resources for pregnancy at ACOG. Also, for those interested in home insemination techniques, visit Make A Mom.
Summary
The article explores the balance between allowing children to explore their environment and maintaining parental oversight. It discusses the author’s experience of letting her son, Ethan, and his friend Noah, navigate the woods and encounter real-life situations, such as seeing a dead raccoon. The narrative reflects on childhood freedom versus modern parenting practices, ultimately conveying the importance of being present and supportive while allowing children to learn and experience the world around them.