My 36 pound 4 year old climbs up on a small but not-a-toy four wheeler and pulls the throttle, kicking it into gear across an open field.
He is in heaven.
I am in a panic.
My stomach drops and I’m certain I turn the color of an unroasted marshmallow. It takes everything in me to not either scream or run after him.
Is this the future of parenting?
My sweet little boy – the one who still can’t quite pronounce his ‘l’s and falls asleep clutching legos – this one is driving a motor vehicle?
I swallow the lump in my throat because I trust my husband and my dad who, despite the thrill they are getting by sharing this with him and their palpable eagerness about the whole thing, have taken every safety precaution. They’ve been clear about the controls – (only two – stop and go.) He has a safety clip attached that will cut off the four wheeler if he jerks. They’ve set up boundaries to keep him off the big hill. They’ve turned down the motor to its lowest setting. They ride alongside him.
As the weekend goes on they extend the boundaries and give him a little more power.
Every time he climbs on I talk myself off a cliff.
I know that at some point I’ll have to let him go.
We spent the weekend at our family’s cabin in West Virginia.
We picked flowers and the kids explored the woods with walkie talkies. We kayaked on the lake and went fishing. Every meal was cooked and eaten outside.
Our dog, Bourbon, lives his dream life there – roaming free and swimming whenever he pleased. But on the last night, Matt and I were laying on a blanket watching the sun set while the kids slept back at the cabin with my parents. Bourbon – being the herding dog he is – wandered out to us and started making circles.
His loops got bigger and bigger, till we didn’t see him again for a while and figured he’d gone to the cabin.
Except when we got back, he’s was still gone.
We gathered spotlights and hopped on a four-wheeler, hoping he’d hear the engine even if he couldn’t hear us. It was pitch black. He is almost 12 years old and has 2 metal legs from chasing after cats and tearing both ACL’s years ago.
We didn’t speak it out loud – but his chances of survival in these wild woods at night weren’t good.
We drove and yelled his name for an hour.
How am I supposed to leave this place without knowing what’s happened to him? How will we tell the kids? What if we do find him and he’s been attacked by the black bear we saw earlier?
Why did we let him out of our sight?
We were heavy and about to turn in when I heard his heavy panting behind us, soaking wet and in a full sprint.
He was totally unharmed, though completely exhausted, and fell asleep with a dopey look of contentment on his face.
When Gavin walks outside without his shoes for the 132nd time, tiptoeing across the mulch, I ask – “dude, why don’t you just wear shoes?”
He responds with the most matter-of-fact answer ever – “I just want to be FREE.”
How do you argue with that?
Lately, it’s like a flashing sign is subtly blinking – hey, you can’t keep them close forever.
I know that I don’t actually want to, either. I want to allow freedom. I want to see my people (and pets) live life fully and learn to take healthy risks. I want to empower them.
I want them to learn how to trust their own judgment.
To explore with excitement and find their way home.
I just hate that it may require them to get lost first.
I’m becoming keenly aware of how much courage it will take to sit back and watch them run into fire.
Parents of older kids… I see you.
Also, please send help.
Family sessions aren’t just for newborns and families with littles.
Reach out to schedule a session to honor whatever is vibrant and true to the season of life your family is in right now.
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