The Helicopter vs. the Bungee-Jumper

My 10 ½-year-old daughter just went on her first real trip away from home without family.  She had the opportunity to go to the beach with a friend from school.   I fought all of my over-protective instincts, and I let her go.

I wasn’t too worried about her safety – the people she was going with were wonderful, and she is a cautious kid and a good swimmer.  I was more concerned about her ability to live with other people for a week without making them crazy.

She’s a great kid, relatively polite and not terribly needy, but she is my husband’s daughter, and with that comes the ability to trash a room in a matter of seconds.  Cabinet doors left open, shoes and clothes strewn on the floor, newspapers and food wrappers scattered about — these are all part of life at our house.  It doesn’t bother them.  They don’t even notice that they do it.  I nudge and nag, but more often than not, it is me who picks up their crap.  Would things be different at someone else’s place?  Or, would she leave her sandy wet towel on the floor?  Did it really matter?  Was that really what I was worried about?

I can’t just blame my husband.  A lot of it is my fault.  It wasn’t until she was nine that I realized that I was one of those crazy helicopter parents that did too much for my kid.  When you do too much, they don’t learn how to do things for themselves, or worse, they begin got believe that they can’t do things for themselves, so they don’t even try.  I had done a lot of damage in nine years and we had both been working hard to rebuild confidence and competence.  She was learning to cook and clean and generally fend for herself.  We had made progress, but I wasn’t sure she was really ready for this kind of trip.

Several friends suggested I get her a phone, like that would somehow make everything ok.   I knew that a phone would just be one more thing for her to worry about losing or breaking and that she’d probably use it to text the girl she was with more than she’d use it to talk to me.   I knew that a phone would not pick up her crap or keep her from drowning or make either one of us any more prepared for this right of passage in tween life.   I also knew that if I called every couple of hours to check up on her, I’d be back in that helicopter mode that got us here in the first place.

So, I dropped her off with nothing more than a suitcase crammed with too many clothes and a head crammed with too many lectures. I reminded her about manners and safety and sunscreen and other things she already knew.   All of my reminding just made her nervous and she practically pushed me out of the door when I asked her to try to call me each night.

I didn’t cry, but I thought about it.  I knew she’d have the time of her life, but it felt strange to know that she was going to have vacation memories that I would not share.   It felt strange to know that I should trust her and that she would probably be just fine without me.

About half way into the first day, I was glad I hadn’t gotten her a phone.  I was way too tempted to check in on her and see what they were up to.  Helicoptering is not easy to give up.   Was she using her manners?  Was she wearing sunscreen?  Were the contents of her suitcase dumped out on the floor and scattered about for everyone to trip over?  Was she having fun?  Did she miss me?

I didn’t want to bug the other mom, so I waited until the end of the night to call and say sweet dreams.  Bedtime is different at the beach, so they were actually at dinner and she couldn’t really talk, but it sounded like she was having fun.  The next night, I waited longer and just texted that I hoped everyone was still having fun.  They called right back and said they were out shopping.  So, these were clearly late-night people.  I was cool with that.  I am a late night person, especially at the beach.  If they eat late and go out shopping late, I guess they probably aren’t uptight neat-freaks, so the sandy, wet towel on the floor might not be a problem after all.

I kept myself busy with yard work and other ridiculous chores I had put off all school year.  I went out for fun lunches and nights out with friends.   I was pretty good about not obsessing about things until the evening hours.  None of the calls had been terribly informative so I don’t really know what I was looking forward to, but I still wanted to hear something.

The third night, I fought all the urges to call and I just waited.  I waited past 9:00 and even past 10:00.  At 10:30 she finally called me.   Before I could say hello, she exclaimed:  “We just went bungee jumping!”

What?!!!  Seriously?  Bungee jumping?   This was not my kid.  She sounded older and my kid was not the bungee jumping type. Or, was she?  Certainly they would have called before going bungee jumping.  Wouldn’t a parent need to sign some kind of release papers? 

I managed somehow to feign excitement and congratulate her.  I asked if she was sunburned, like that would even matter once you’ve plunged off the edge of a building and dangled from an elastic cord.  The call was quick and left me wanting more.  Or maybe it left me wanting less.  It left me really nervous.

The next day, I got an email video that put me at ease.  The bungee jumping was really just a souped-up moon-bounce attraction.  She could jump and flip and fly around like a daredevil without any real risk of harm.

Watching the video gave me just enough of a glimpse into her vacation to know that she was going to be ok.  I could see her hesitation to try a back flip as well as her determination to try.  I could hear her friend and others encouraging her along and laughing with her.  It felt good to know that I could trust her and that she was indeed just fine without me.  The trip, like that bungee moon-bounce, was a chance for her to jump and flip and fly out of the nest without any real risk of harm.    I’m glad we both had the guts for her to do it.