Sending Our Kids Out Into the World

The panic is real.

The only thing missing in this picture is me biting my nails.

Last week my son alerted me about the “garbage pails” that were littered about the playground by his school. When I didn’t react, he asked, “Do you know what a garbage pail is?” Of course, I didn’t. He said they were tiny plastic containers of fentanyl. “Great,” I thought. That same week, my daughter told me that a friend of a friend deals weed and there was a girl at the subway station who was dangling her legs over the platform edge while sobbing to her friends about wanting to jump.

The first thing I did after both of these conversations was put my pants back on as they had been scared right off of me. Then, I moved into parenting mode. I asked questions and probed for details about how they handled these situations. I dispensed some advice that I hoped was right. I then made a note to google the crap out of these topics so the next time I’d be ready. The problem is that parenting is a series of “Suprise!” moments. It’s not that you don’t know these situations are coming, but it seems like you will have more time before they arrive. 

Panicking about my kids is not new. When they were little, I had recurring nightmares of my son falling out of one of our windows. When I worked in Manhattan, I envisioned catastrophic events and then wondered how I would get from Times Square to Brooklyn in the chaos to pick them up. These days, I have nightmares about someone assaulting my daughter or tricking her into doing things. Every parent knows what I mean when I say “things.” In those dreams, she looks her age, but has a childlike demeanor and says to me, “Don’t worry mama, that man said it was okay.” Then I'm screaming and pulling at her and trying to get her away from this horrible person while she laughs. I wake up sweating.

You don’t have to have be Freud to decode my dreams. 

I’m anxious about what’s going to happen when I can’t be standing by their sides to protect them. Yes, I am a control-oriented person. If my wife were reading this over my shoulder you would hear an audible, “Mmm hmm.” I know I’m protective. I know that I desperately want my kids’ lives to be smoother and easier than mine was growing up. 

That makes it difficult to come to terms with the fact that I can’t protect them at all times.

Look, I know they have to go out into the world, and I believe we must push them out of the nest to teach them to be adults. We need to allow them the space to make mistakes in a safe way before the stakes are too high. 

Despite my anxiety, I’m proud to say I have prioritized pushing them out into the world. 

In some ways, it’s been wonderful. We live in a big city with access to a robust subway and bus system. I’m not mad about the convenience that comes from my kids taking themselves to and from school and after-school activities. 

Now, we didn’t just hand them a subway card and yell, “Ready, set, commute!” We tried to be thoughtful in our approach. They took walks to the neighborhood park and the deli while I covertly followed them. They took themselves to breakfast– after we taught them how to tip. Nobody wants bad-tipping kids in their section. Together, we walked the routes to school and after-school activities. When we were out and about in the city, I gave pop quizzes. “Ok. It’s time for you to get us home from here. Good luck!” We talked about what to do if something happened right now. “Where would you go? Who would you look to for help?” We dumbed down their smartphones, removing the internet, games, and YouTube so they were forced to pay attention.

Yet that hasn’t been enough for me to trust they’ll be okay. Mostly because of the garbage pails and school shootings and stabbings at subway stations. I could go on and on. 

My kids continue growing, and I continue worrying. 

The separation trajectory between kids and parents is interesting though. As a society, we talk a lot about how important it is for our kids to step out and practice adulting, but we don’t talk enough about how important it is for parents to practice letting their kids go. All I know is when I had my first baby, I thought 18 years was a very long time, but I blinked and that baby is three years away from college. 

Clearly, I need this time to adjust too. 

The growth for me is to learn to trust that we prepared our kids. Then hope that the universe or fate or their smart little brains will be enough to get them through this life. I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying, but maybe I can shift my thinking to being comfortable in my uncomfortableness. Maybe I can hold two things at the same time; my fear and my trust that I have two smart, prepared kids, who make good choices. 

This past weekend was my wife’s birthday, and to celebrate, we went bowling followed by dinner at P.F. Changs. A classic Hopkins/Littell day. It had been years since we took the kids bowling. Bowling was one of the activities we leaned heavily on during the tough years from four to eight or nine when we desperately needed to get them out of the house. It wasn’t always fun. We spent more time attempting to keep them on our lane than actually bowling. But it passed the time on those interminable winter vacation days, and it was slightly more enjoyable than another animated movie.

Bowling with them now was a completely different experience. They’re filled with personality but have some manners. That meant I could have a beer and focus on beating Mary. My daughter didn’t care a bit about technique, whipping the ball down the alley with the wrong fingers in the holes. My son fumed about being unable to do a perfect bowling approach in his first frame. We laughed, we trash-talked, and I won. Yes, that is an important detail.  We enjoyed the Lettuce Wraps and the Great Wall of Chocolate Cake.

It was a beautiful day and I could almost see the adults they would soon become. I didn’t worry about what bad things may be in their future, I enjoyed us all being together today. 

So that is what I’ll try to remember in those moments of fear. We’ve loved them, we’ve taught them, and they’re smart and capable people. 

Will life still happen? Yes. But have I already done better than was done for me? Yes.