I was adopted by my paternal grandmother. She grew up a coal miner's daughter. She was old school. By the time I turned 18, I truly believe she thought she had armed me with the ability to think for myself, stick up for myself, and make good choices. But I didn't wake up the morning of my 18th birthday suddenly capable of these things that the night before, I was not. It was learned behavior over time. My mother would've said she gave me just enough rope to see if I would hang myself with it. I called it learning how to be an adult.
That did not include being disrespectful, rude, or unfeeling. It didn't include condoning illegal behavior. But if I wanted to work an extra shift at my job or I chose not to study for an exam, if I drove too fast or enlisted in the military - those were my decisions to live and die by. I knew what my mother would likely do or expect of me, and I could either rise to the occasion or fall on my face and learn from the experience.
Which brings me back to my point about my son. My mother was probably tied in knots that year or so before I turned 18 - scared I wouldn't or couldn't apply her lessons to my life. I say that, because I'm worried about the same things. He's getting his temps in 10 days. He will have a license and a car in 6 months. He will get a job next summer when school let's out. And then we will be considering colleges from around the nation. I want him to be able to distinguish between moments when it's okay to still be a kid, and moments when it's okay to be a respectful young man. I want him to follow the right role models, but if their rules ever confuse him, there's a right way to ask for help or clarification - to know when he can and can't control his future.
I've told him so many times - if you need your voice to be heard so you aren't treated unfairly, you can't be afraid to speak up. It's okay to be your own advocate. Otherwise, people will assume you are a pushover, and it may follow you throughout your life. I can't always be there for you.
My mother died six weeks before my 24th birthday. My son was three. Mom left this earth knowing I was capable, and had been for a while. And that was because she allowed me to be capable while still under her very watchful eye. I wouldn't have hung myself with that length of rope, because she would've been close by, waiting in case I needed a longer rope or reinforcements. That's what us parents do.
Now, maybe you're thinking "they're just kids still." And you're right - they are. But they'll just be kids with cars soon. And then they'll be just kids picking out colleges or the armed forces or pounding the pavement, looking for a job. Then they'll be kids in love, promising to love another forever. Then they'll be just be kids having their own kids. The point is, they'll always be our kids.
So, when do you start loosening the proverbial apron strings? When is it okay to let them show us we've taught them well - or that they need more time? Are we now a nation of parents who can't or won't let go? Or are we raising kids who are gaining more confidence and experience everyday, in preparation for the adult decisions that soon face them? Is sixteen too young to start encouraging them to speak up for themselves? To encourage respectful discussions about what affects them most?
I say it's not. I say this has to be the time, while we are still close by, watching to see how much rope is left. This is the quiz before the test. Others disagree, and in reality, none of us are wrong; only our methods are different. But is it harmful to allow our kids to test the waters? What do you think?
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