This past week, I accompanied several students at my university on a trip to the Licking River to collect trash that had regrettably been polluting it. Ideally, I would've wished that we didn't have to go to such great lengths to take the brunt of other people's carelessness, but secretly I was excited to be able to paddle in a canoe. I had never canoed before and this was my chance to finally get out and do something remotely adventurous while contributing the the betterment of our planet.
I had briefly mentioned the impending trip to my mother, who has always been the bonafide helicopter parent. As such, I had conveniently omitted the part about traveling in canoes. As someone who was forced to watch certain episodes on the crime channel as a "lesson" in staying safe, I knew that had I been living under my parents' roof while going to college, there would be no discussion of river clean-ups, much less canoeing.
As a kid, and later as a teenager, I wasn't allowed to go to summer camp because I would almost certainly drown if the bears didn't eat me first. I wasn't allowed to go on mission trips, even within my own state, because I would probably saw off my hands in the process of building homes for the needy. It was like pulling teeth to even get my mom to agree to let me sleep over at a friend's house when I was 11. In short, I was never really permitted to do anything recreational outside my mother's peripheral vision.
In college especially, it can be difficult to strike a balance between being carefree while still being careful. Of course, I don't think any parent wants their child to be careless, but especially in my case, it seems quite difficult for parents to trust their children to put the product of their own upbringing to the test. Granted, my mother should be glad to note that I'm just not that into partying and more into marathoning The Office, but even when I go out on a limb to do something spontaneous, my mother's warning bells sound off in my head. I even found myself frantically counting the hours until my sister came home safe and sound from YMCA camp this past summer.
That's when I realized that I may turn out to be the worry-wart parent that my mom is when I send my own kids off to do great things. I recognize that I will have to trust my children enough to let them make their own mistakes and be the kids I've always wanted to be myself, but I already know that I'm going to be pulling my hair out, ready to have them on speed-dial if I don't hear anything. One of the biggest lessons I have yet to fully understand is my parents' side of the equation on any issue of life.
