She’s at the lake with her little one, splashing away with my beach toys. Her child, clearly without a playmate besides mom, squeals and jumps in delight. My youngest son decides to join in as well. The back of his bright blue life vest flaps as he walks over. She starts pouring water for him and digging in the sand, alternating with her daughter, who seems to see my son as if he’s invisible. “I don’t know where your Mommy is,” she exclaims loudly.
With a sigh, I push myself up from the shade of the tree and make the trek over to the water’s edge. The sun is blazing hot, and I’m still in my winter-pale state, without a trace of sunscreen. As I settle by the lake, I finally engage with my son (who I had been closely watching but not actively playing with), and he’s overjoyed to have someone to toss sand at. My plans for a relaxing lakeside day have shifted, and now I’m likely to get a sunburn while pouring water into buckets and dealing with sand in all the wrong places.
You’re still here, helicopter mom, still making it difficult for the rest of us. Perhaps you come to the lake to interact with your child, who’s wearing a life vest and perfectly safe. But I’m here to lounge in the shade, watching my boys catch minnows, build sandcastles, and float in the water with their life vests. When I do dip my toes in, I like to skip a few stones before retreating back to my blanket. You could join me for some watermelon and sweet tea. Your kids will be just fine, I promise. We don’t need to entertain them together.
Yet you’ll make me feel guilty for not participating. Because you’re actively playing with your child, it’s as if I’m expected to do the same with mine or face judgment. I’m already labeled a bad parent for not doing it from the get-go, but maybe I can redeem myself by allowing a toddler to shower me with sand for hours — all while I fry under the sun.
The essence of summer is independence. It’s a chance for kids to explore and take risks. But perhaps that’s why helicopter moms are out in full force. At the barbecue, she’s anxiously yelling at the kids to keep their distance from the grill. So, I have to shout at mine to stay clear too. She sits with her eyes glued to the children, always half-involved in conversations while monitoring their every move. And she’s constantly barking at them to steer clear of the grill, even when they’re a safe distance away.
She means well, truly. But helicopter parents seem to believe that children are one moment away from disaster. This is especially true when it comes to anything remotely dangerous, like sparklers. It’s as if they’ve formed a coalition to ban small fireworks from public events, particularly sparklers. Yes, kids can hurt themselves with sparklers, but many also manage to enjoy them without incident. Why should the majority be deprived of a cherished memory because of a few mishaps? You don’t seem to care, helicopter mom. Or rather, you care too much.
In your fervor to protect your little one, you inadvertently ruin the fun for everyone else. You hover close, literally holding onto the back of Junior’s bike because training wheels simply aren’t enough. As you do this in your driveway, my kids ride by on the road. You’ll stop Junior’s bike fun to come over and warn me about my kids biking on the road. When I reassure you they are wearing helmets and that it’s okay, you’ll scrunch your face up in concern. “Do you think that’s…safe?” you’ll question.
You think I’m being reckless. You pass by as my kids explore the edge of a pond, searching for tadpoles. Your kids want to join in, but you deny them, saying, “Not today; you’ll fall in.” Meanwhile, my 4-year-old leaps over the rocks like a mountain goat, proudly announcing, “I caught a bullfrog!” His brothers gather around to admire his catch. Your kids watch from the bridge, their clothes spotless and their shoes free of pond muck. They will stay that way, thanks to your vigilance. You gasp when my 2-year-old navigates the rocks. “They love it,” I say to you.
“I just can’t stand the thought of them on those rocks,” you respond. You call your kids, and they flock to you like ducklings. No stragglers — they’ve learned. You walk away, and one by one, your kids glance back at us. I wish you’d stay and relax for a bit.
Let’s be honest: none of us truly knows what we’re doing when it comes to parenting. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I feel good about giving my kids the freedom to be kids. Sure, they might get a few bumps and scrapes, but they’re happy exploring their independence. And so am I.
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