Whos in Charge?
My son is about to embark on his high school journey … like … right now.
In just two months, he’ll be a teenager.
What kind of thoughts does this evoke within me?
“This will mean he’s three years away from getting his driver’s license; a year or two from experiencing his first real heartbreak; five years until he can legally drink; and who knows how long until he marries … has kids … and forgets to contact me.”
Forget whether he’s equipped to navigate his teenage years; the real question is, am I?
Who’s Learning From Whom?
Isn’t raising our children to take on responsibility more about our emotional resilience? It’s a delicate balance between how much they demand from us and how much we can hold back, all while ensuring our relationship remains intact without breaking under pressure.
Aren’t kids also here to enlighten us about life? By the age of 25, our brains start to stiffen and become less adaptable. My brain has been solidifying for the past two decades, along with my lower back. At this point, my neuroplasticity resembles that of a basketball hoop.
I can still vividly recall my son’s first week of kindergarten. He was incredibly brave, holding back his tears almost until he vanished over the school’s threshold. His cheeks were plump and sometimes his posture pushed his stomach out, resembling a mini Alfred Hitchcock. Every day, just before being engulfed by the school, a tear would cascade down his adorable face like a candy swallowed whole.
That week, I also learned that sending kids to kindergarten isn’t a legal requirement in our province. What?! We could keep him home without fear of the law? Maybe we should consider homeschooling instead?
It turns out that shouting “I want him back!” through a window during circle time is viewed as harassment in certain areas.
“It will foster his independence,” my wife pointed out.
“It will help him socialize,” chimed in my closest friend.
“Don’t forget to get him immunized,” my pediatrician cautioned.
Kindergarten did indeed pave the way for his adjustment to society (a lesson I should have grasped from his first art project: it was vibrant—he claimed it was an upside-down giraffe munching on a Froot Loop, but I saw through it!). It was also a significant leap for me as a parent, stepping off the ledge of dependency.
He needed to learn to function without me, while I had to learn to have faith in the world and its ability to care for my son. I had to occupy the hours from 8 a.m. to 2:20 p.m. as something other than Daddy.
You’d think I’d have grown somewhat desensitized after we implemented the Ferber method. Remember that? The “cry it out” technique? It had us trying to enjoy Netflix while our baby unleashed horrifying screams that could disturb the entire neighborhood. If our infant had been a pet, the authorities surely would have intervened, and I would have welcomed that.
It’s paradoxical, but the Ferber method is sometimes referred to as “graduated extinction,” perhaps because your patience is slowly extinguishing during this process.
Why was it essential to Ferberize him? We assured ourselves it was crucial for him to learn self-soothing; after all, Mummy and Daddy won’t always be present. Yet, in hindsight, it was also because we craved some time to ourselves! Naturally, I thought Dr. Ferber was ingenious: he allowed me to dive into The Sopranos while my son wailed for his life from the crib.
Once the crying subsided, what did we do? We checked on him. Is he breathing? Is he dreaming? Is he too hot or too cold? Should he sleep on his back or stomach, with or without a blanket? Time to refer to “What to Expect!”
He was perfectly fine; I was the one struggling to let him go.
He was just fine in kindergarten, as well.
He continues to be fine, and I’m still working through these feelings.
As children evolve (and parents age), they tend to follow remarkably similar trajectories toward high school. In contrast, parents often gravitate toward various stereotypes: Tiger Moms, Helicopter Parents, Free-Range Parents, Attachment Parents, and so on.
I’ve encountered a plethora of labels while preparing his bag for sleep-away camp—only to confront my own dread about it and opt to keep him home instead. (Hey, I do compensate him weekly for mowing the lawn and pulling weeds; that’s experience, right?)
As a preteen, he appears quite well-adjusted. It’s my wife and me who are deliberating over, and gradually loosening, the parental reins—just a smidge at a time.
“Where’s the boy?” she inquires.
“Bike riding,” I reply with pride. Look at me: instilling a sense of independence.
Then come the questions for which I lack answers: Where has he gone? How long will he be away? Did he take his phone with him?
Yikes. Don’t have those details. But he is wearing a helmet, which is a step forward from what I did at his age. See? I did teach him something.
Our children aren’t adults … at least not yet. But they resemble little adults. They desire what we want: the ability to make their own choices, to earn our trust, and to feel loved upon their return home.
I believe that, for most lessons, we as parents must lead by example and create a safe haven for them to return to (complete with protective headgear).
There’s a unique kind of magic for a child who enjoys roaming away from home while also cherishing the return to it.
Perhaps mastering how to provide both experiences to our children is an essential part of our role as parents.
