Freedom

Disclaimer: For those with children older than mine, please feel free to laugh, loudly I'm sure, at my expense as I unravel one of the most basic tenets of parenting. I'm only managing a C in Parenting 101.

Grace loves to hear stories about my youth. Craig's too, but she seems to have a particular fascination with my rural upbringing. "Tell me about the time you cut down the Christmas tree all by yourself"*, "Tell me about the time you went out on the ice when you were in 1st grade"**, "Tell me about the time you jumped off the roof of your house."*** There are many reasons she likes these stories: they're about me as a kid, they take place somewhere she's only imagined, they involve a bit of danger, and almost always there are no adults involved.

Last night, after another story, she asked me why she can't do any of the things I did. Fumbling, I told here that I had a lot of freedom when I was a kid, and that because we live in an urban neighborhood, she couldn't have that kind of freedom. "But why?" she wanted to know, and so I dug my hole a bit deeper:

"Well, a few blocks away, there are some people that do bad stuff, and I wouldn't want you to interact with them."

"Do they live next door?"

"No."

"Then why do you think I would be with them?"

"Well, I don't know, it just makes me nervous."

"Oh."

We moved on to other topics, but I felt unresolved. Why exactly didn't I want her playing in the yard alone? Because some characters in another section of the neighborhood (who I've never seen in our area) might come around? And do what exactly? The chances that Grace would have some sort of negative interaction with anyone in the neighborhood is very, very low, and yet I hover. I don't give her freedom, and by doing so I send the message, "I don't trust you." Now, how in the world can I expect her to be a trustworthy adult, and more importantly trust in herself, if I don't provide her with the same courtesy.

Oh, this hurts my poor parenting brain. I don't want to beat myself up. Mostly, I'm just learning. I've never had a six year old before. She was a baby (or at least a toddler) not that long ago, and she's not anymore. I need to adapt. Adjust. Accept. She's older. She deserves more trust and more responsibility. I need to make reasonable assessments about the real dangers in her life (driving in a car with me is the most dangerous thing she does, not because I'm a bad driver, but because according to the National Safety Commission car accidents are the number one cause of accidental death among kids one and older).

This whole gig is a work in progress (obviously). Grace has been chomping at the bit to walk herself to school (like the other kids in our neighborhood), and we'll work up to it. Dropping her off at the school steps as opposed to walking her to class seems to be a start.

*For the record, I asked permission first
**I got in trouble for this. Note that when I write the word "ice" I mean the stuff that froze over the bay.
***First of all, it wasn't that high, only the first story, and second, I got in trouble for this too.