Helicopters or remoras?

unsafe at any speed?

OK, yes it's been a long time...since February?? I won't bore you with the details of how my writing mojo was thrown off balance by the resurrection of my job...but I'm sitting on the porch this morning and Mr. Cardinal has already stopped by for a visit, and the sun is out, the coffee is great...and ever since last night's modified baseball game, yes, I've been musing...

on parents and parenting styles today.

Last night a father made a loud remark about the playing time his son is getting. This is the second father of the season to spout off this way.  My first reaction to such outbusts (as I chew a Tootsie Pop to keep my own mouth shut), is wonder and confusion...I've been to Cooperstown and I must have missed the plaques of all these baseball legends that are sharing the sidelines of my kid's Little League and Modified diamonds. I mostly seriously feel sorry for the sons, because I can't imagine what it's like to be 13, 14 years old and have your dad be so far up your ass butt that you can't throw a single pitch or shift your weight on the base without having him shout out something to you.

I remember reading about this author and blogger, Lenore Skenazy, who received much criticism for letting her nine year old son ride the subway by himself. Her book, "Free Range Kids", details how the level of fear among parents is largely unjustified and she encourages parents to let their kids discover the world.
However, I think it's not fear so much that has created the helicoptering mode...I think that beginning with my generation, the baby boomers, we are so incredibly self-absorbed and in parenting, that gets translated to developing, managing and experiencing childhood through our kids. Or life through our kids, when they are no longer quite children.
Especially when they hit the teenage years, it seems to be such a fine line between giving guidance and controlling their choices. That's probably why Mr. Baseball Dad's behavior had me musing so much...it's definitely an area I struggle with daily.

But as the image of a helicopter was replaced in my mind of one of a remora--sucking the life and fun out of our kids as we try to live their childhood with them, I also remembered one of my husband's and I's catchphrases--"We were young once".

This originated with his grandparents, when they were living in Pittsburgh during the first years of our marriage, we would have opportunities through my job to travel there, and we would stay over with them to visit. The first time his grandma showed me our bedroom, she smiled at some point and said "We were young once." I believe that they both repeated this phrase at various times when we would stay with them. John and I assumed that they were giving us permission to have sex while we were there, which was NOT HAPPENING since the mattress was covered in plastic under the sheets. Yeah, crinkle, crinkle, I don't think so!

But you know, we look at each other sometimes now and laugh and say "We were young once." Now we know that they probably felt like us and couldn't believe how the years had flown, and still felt young inside.

I'm going to start repeating "We were young once" to remind myself that I had the pleasure and agony of flying on my own...