Like most kids, Maria loves to go to playgrounds. One day, she picked up this book in the back seat of my car and pretended to read it to me. "It says, 'Go to the playground!'" she said. (Pretty clever - if not omniscient - of her to invoke the Dalai Lama in her quest to go to the playground).
When Maria first started going to playgrounds, I confess, it was a terrifying experience for me. My instinct was to follow her everywhere, to hold onto her as she climbed every rung up the ladder to the slide, to be right there to catch her just in case she slipped and fell. According to MetroDad, I was a Hoverer. My husband, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was much more relaxed about it. He would constantly urge me to let her do things on her own, that it helped her build confidence, and he was right. But it’s so hard for a mom to do that since, from the date of conception, that little being has been reliant on you for everything. You’ve nurtured this little person from a mass of cells into a curious, walking, climbing toddler and it’s hard to sit back, take inventory of each and every potential danger and not spring into action to protect your child. I mean, until then, your role in your child’s life has been all about protection. That’s why we don’t drink alcohol or eat raw fish or soft cheeses during pregnancy. That’s why we put impossible contraptions on our cabinets, plug up all of our electrical outlets and barricade the stairs to the basement! Right? It's the most natural of instincts: protecting our young.
These days, I’m not so clingy with Maria on the playgrounds, but there are times that I’ve had to restrain myself when other kids are pushing and shoving their way past others or when they just somehow seem unkind. When I notice any type of aggression from other kids, this raises a different red flag. And again, my hovering instincts burn hot.
There was a big period of my childhood during which I was apparently good fodder for the neighborhood bullies. Older neighbor girls would say horrible things to me and I would simply cower instead of responding with a sharp retort or a kick to their shins. It’s hard to say why I was so meek, but in raising my daughter I think about this a lot. I wonder about how to bully-proof her, to fill her with self confidence so that she doesn’t suffer the self-doubt, stress and self-loathing that I experienced when I was young and so ripe for bullying. And then today, I read this article on spiked-online, and - whoa! It hadn't occurred to me before, but as the hovering parent, am I actually turning my daughter into a prime bully target? So, with the Internet as my witness, let it be known that effective September 17, 2007, I hereby relinquish my title as Worrius Protectus. I shall not hover again!
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