My son is on the brink of starting high school… like… right now.
He’s just two months away from entering his teenage years.
What does this trigger inside me?
“It suggests he’s three years away from getting his driver’s license; a year or two from his first real heartbreak; five years from being able to legally drink; and quite possibly, a time frame I can’t readily estimate until he’s dealing with marriage and kids and perhaps forgetting to stay in touch with me.”
Forget about whether he’s prepared for adolescence; am I?
Who’s teaching whom?
Isn’t teaching our kids about responsibility more a reflection of our own emotional growth? It’s a balancing act of how much they need from us versus how much we’re willing to hold back, all while considering the strain that our relationship can endure before breaking.
Shouldn’t children also be guiding us through life? After all, by the age of 25, our brains tend to lose their flexibility. My brain has been growing less adaptable for two decades. In fact, my neuroplasticity resembles that of a worn-out basketball hoop.
I still vividly remember my son’s initial days in kindergarten. He was incredibly brave. He didn’t shed a tear until he was almost out of sight at the school’s entrance. His adorable droopy cheeks and posture sometimes gave way to a protruding belly, akin to a five-year-old Hitchcock. Every single day, a tear would glide down his chubby face just as he vanished into the school, which greedily welcomed him like a favorite treat.
That same week, I learned that enrolling your child in kindergarten isn’t mandatory in our province. What?! We could actually keep him at home without anyone showing up at our door to enforce attendance laws?! Shouldn’t we explore the option of homeschooling?
As it turns out, expressing “I want him back!” through a classroom window might be considered harassment in some places.
“This will help him grow independent,” my wife reassured me.
“It’s crucial for him to interact with his classmates,” my best friend advised.
“Don’t forget his vaccinations,” reminded our pediatrician.
Ultimately, kindergarten was not just a milestone for him; it marked a crucial step for me as a parent and individual, pushing me off the edge of dependence.
He needed to learn how to navigate life without me, while I had to learn to trust a world I had often shielded him from. Those hours between 8 a.m. and 2:20 p.m. had to be filled with something other than “Dad.”
You might assume I had toughened up long before this moment when my wife and I decided on the Ferber method. Remember that? Letting them “cry it out?” It involved us pretending to enjoy a show while our baby filled the neighborhood with anguished cries. Had he been a pet, neighbors would have surely called for help, and I would have welcomed it.
Ironically, the Ferber Method is also known as “graduated extinction,” likely named because your patience feels like it’s undergoing a similar process during that time.
Why was Ferberizing essential? We told ourselves it was crucial for our child to learn self-soothing, reminding ourselves that Mummy and Daddy can’t always be around. But in truth, we were desperate for some personal time! Naturally, I thought Dr. Ferber was quite wise: his method allowed me to dive into the world of The Sopranos while my son cried in his crib.
After he stopped crying, what did we do? We checked on him. Is he breathing? Is he having sweet dreams? Is he too warm? Is he too cool? Should he be placed on his back or his tummy? Where’s that trusty “What to Expect” guide?
He was just fine; it was me who struggled to let go.
He was perfectly okay in kindergarten, too.
He’s still thriving, and I’m still learning to accept it.
As children mature and parents grow older, they navigate remarkably similar paths toward high school. It seems we adults tend to fall into various categories: Tiger Moms, Helicopter Parents, Free-Range Parents, Attachment Parents, among others.
I haven’t encountered so many classifications since I prepped his overnight bag for camp—only to realize how I felt dread about him going away and ultimately keeping him at home instead. (After all, I do pay him weekly to tend to the lawn and pull weeds; it’s all about life experience, right?)
At this stage, he seems incredibly well-adjusted. It’s my wife and I who grapple with loosening the reins of parenting, albeit gradually.
“Where is our son?” she might inquire.
“Out riding his bike,” I’ll respond, filled with pride. Look at me: fostering his independence.
Then come the flood of questions I don’t always have answers to: Where did he go? How long will he be away? Does he have his phone?
Oops. I can’t answer those. At least he’s wearing a helmet; that’s a step forward from my childhood. See? I did teach him something.
Our kids aren’t adults quite yet, but they resemble tiny adults. They aspire for the same things we do: to make choices, earn trust, and return home to love.
I believe our most significant lessons as parents revolve around leading by example and providing a secure foundation for them to return to (along with ensuring they have appropriate safety gear).
There’s a certain enchantment for a child in having the freedom to play independently, combined with the joy of returning to a loving home.
Ultimately, perhaps it’s our duty to learn how to offer both of these essentials to our children.
