The Power of Hanging Back
Recently, I found myself sitting outside watching our youngest three from our back porch. While they weren’t extremely far away (they were simply playing in the sand and on the swings of our play set), I wasn’t very close by my normal standards. I almost stood up to move closer and caught myself: they were fine. They were more than fine.
I caught the moment where they started to argue. The three year old was fussing at the 18 month old for “messing up” his sand creation. The kindergartner took the reigns and said, “She’s little. She just doesn’t understand.”
It was the first time I’d really heard this depth of negotiation and explanation with my youngest kids– one brother sticking up for his younger sister.
A few days prior, I was answering an email when the 18 month old started melting into a temper tantrum because her 3 year old brother wouldn’t let her play with one (yes, just one) of the thousands of toy cars we have. She wanted that car, and she wanted it Songadh right then. He worked it out with her and gave her the car. They figured out their problem without me.
Almost 12 years ago, my first child was born. From the moment they let me take her home, I fought the urge to be a helicopter parent. As a toddler, I was always by her side worried that she’d fall and bump her knee. That didn’t stop her from scraping her face with a stick – yes, a stick – while outside playing among other random kid-normal bumps and bruises.
As each of my children joined the family, my helicopter was more and more grounded. The kindergartner was the first of my kids that I witnessed fall off the side of a bed. My heart stopped when it happened, but he was grinning when I retrieved him. What a fun ride!
Our third (now 3 years old) is a dare devil. We call him Mr. Peepers because he can perch on the side of any small-edged item without falling. But that hasn’t stopped him from busting a lip, cutting his knee open, and bonking his head in various other ways.
And now, with Baby Diva (18 months, basically), I find myself hanging back more than I ever did with the first three.
She has had a black eye, a cut chin, a bonked forehead, and busted knees. But none of that was truly avoidable. Kids will be kids. They will get boo boos, and our job is to be there to love them, bandage them, and help them see how the choice they made (perching, climbing, or whatever it was) may not have been the best choice.
Do I ignore my kids? I do.
But not in the way that the phrase suggests. My ears and eyes are always “on,” and I am able to pay attention to what they’re doing regardless of what meeting, phone conversation, or work assignment I’m completing.
At some point, though, our kids must be left to their own devices. They must be given the chance to fall off the bed (not really – it’s a metaphor, people) in order to learn how to get back up, dust off their knees, and try again.
My memories of my childhood involve multiple fights and arguments with my siblings. Negotiations. Defenses. Arguments. It was in those years that I learned my earliest lessons about how to be a part of society. At least with my siblings, I was safe. It was a great place to practice. And whether my parents realized it or not, their hanging back served a great purpose: it taught us independence and people skills.
I learned in those years how to convince my younger brother to do things (sorry, bud). I learned how to stand up for myself. I learned how to remove myself from a situation and retreat to my bedroom if I needed to be alone.
This is what I hope my kids learn as I let them figure things out. I’m here, and they’ll always know that. But watching my boys “play dominoes” after the Animal gets off the bus? Listening to him teach Flash how to match colors and numbers without sitting right next to them and guiding their every move? Liberating.
So yes, I hang back. I even pick up my phone and play Candy Crush here and there. It’s ok.
In what ways do you hang back and let your kids be kids?
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