I’ve read a lot of posts regarding helicopter parents recently. Most of what I’ve read tends to lean on the opposite side of the spectrum, those who are trying to loosen the reigns. As is more usual than I tend to relay, I do not adhere to this way of thinking.
In fact, I’m considering never letting my kids out of my sight until they’re 18. And that’s if they’re lucky.
Sure, we’ll let little Billy ride the subway all by himself. The fact that he made it back safe and sound is supposed to mean something. But it only takes once. One minute of one afternoon of one day for one very deranged person to take one very innocent child. Then, days later, you find the body of that child buried in the brush or dumped in a landfill. Like garbage.
One minute. This little girl, she was there. She ran ahead of her siblings. And then, she was gone. Just gone.
My heart, it breaks at the alarming number of stories like these. It makes me want to build a bubble around my family and never let them leave. I realize that I can’t stop fate from running it’s course. Bad people will do bad things regardless. I also realize that my kids are going to want some independence. They’re going to ride bikes down the street and stay over with friends. They’re going to grow up and believe they’re invincible. As much as I would like to, I know I can’t stop this. Tailing their every move simply isn’t feasible. Preferred, but not feasible. I’m going to have to let them go eventually. This is part of being a mother. The nerve-ridden, can’t sleep at night because of the what if’s, scaring the hell out of me part. I see a prescription for some anti-anxiety meds in my future.