Letting My Kids Discover the World While Keeping a Watchful Eye

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“Sure,” I replied, as Ethan eagerly slipped on his sneakers. The boys had been at each other since they got off the bus, and a trip to the creek behind our house felt like the perfect solution to burn off that pent-up energy. Honestly, I was hoping to avoid the constant reminders of “Be nice” or “Use your words instead of shoving” for a little while.

Ethan and Liam dashed ahead, and I hurried to keep up. For a moment, I paused, reminiscing about all the time I spent exploring my own neighborhood as a kid, either alone or with friends.

At 6 years old, we’re just starting to let Ethan venture outside by himself for short stretches. In today’s world of overprotective parenting, it feels almost rebellious. My partner and I find ourselves peeking out the window every few minutes, even though we both had much more freedom growing up. But two kindergartners alone in the woods? One of them isn’t even mine! So, I decided to follow them.

Swatting away the tiny mosquitoes that seemed to multiply overnight, I trailed behind the boys. My nerves, frayed from refereeing their arguments, began to settle as I soaked in the fresh air and the sounds of the bubbling creek.

Ethan waded through the water, while Liam carefully scampered across a fallen log that connected both sides of the creek. I held my breath, imagining the worst—Ethan slipping and tumbling into the muddy water. “Be careful, you two!” I called out.

Suddenly, a girl’s voice rang out, “Hey, Ethan!” We all turned to see a fifth-grader from the neighborhood descending the hill with her younger sister in tow. Ethan and Liam ran to join them.

Now all four kids were on the other side of the creek, and I glanced down at my shoes, regretting not wearing boots. Should I cross to keep an eye on them? I chuckled at the thought of my parents trailing behind me on my adventures. Despite Ethan’s strong will, he shares my cautious nature, so I decided to stay put and keep them in sight.

As I looked around, I thought about how fortunate my kids are to grow up near a creek surrounded by woods. I smiled, remembering how vast those woods seemed to me as a child. As an adult driving past my old neighborhood, I realized that what I viewed as a forest was really just a cluster of trees.

“Hey, do you guys want to see a dead raccoon?” I heard one of the girls exclaim.

The words jolted me from my thoughts. “Uh, no, no, no,” I yelled across the creek, but the boys were already following her. “We’re not sure if it’s dead or not. It might just be hurt,” the older girl added.

I could only imagine an injured, rabid raccoon lying in wait to attack my son. More likely, though, it was just dead. The boys rushed after the girls, and I trailed behind, anxious about how seeing a dead animal might affect my sensitive Ethan. “Ethan! Come back!” I shouted.

They were already there. I could either leap across the creek to stop Ethan from seeing the raccoon or let him have this little adventure. Isn’t encountering something like that a rite of passage? I remembered when I was about 8, walking down my street alone when a motorcycle tragically hit and killed my best friend’s cat. Despite the shock, I was strangely fascinated by what I saw and spent weeks reenacting the event with my friend.

Still uncertain about my choice to let Ethan check out the raccoon, I reassured myself that he would probably be okay. After all, I only had a mild trauma from witnessing my friend’s cat’s death, and if it affected Ethan, there’s a fantastic school social worker available—much better than what I had back in school.

“Hey, it’s alive!” Ethan called, returning to my side. “Cool!” Liam shouted. “How do you know?” the younger girl asked. “Its eyes were open!” Ethan exclaimed with excitement.

My heart swelled at his innocence. The fifth-grade girl and I exchanged knowing glances, both aware that a motionless raccoon with open eyes was, in fact, dead. Suddenly, Ethan looked so small against the backdrop of the tall trees.

“Do you want to see, Mom?” Ethan asked, reaching out to help me cross the creek. We’d seen deer and turkeys in our yard, but a raccoon was definitely something new and exciting.

“That’s okay,” I replied, trying to keep a neutral expression.

Soon after, the girls headed back home, while Ethan, Liam, and I made our way up the opposite hill toward our house. “Hey, be gentle, boys!” I hollered as they playfully whacked sticks at each other. “We’re just playing Star Wars, Mom,” Ethan retorted.

I sighed, reflecting on how much freedom I had growing up in the late ’70s and ’80s. Back then, we figured things out on our own, only rushing back home when our games turned too rough or someone got hurt.

There’s also something to be said for staying close to my kids when I can. Today, I found a balance—keeping a watchful eye while allowing Ethan to face life’s realities. I witnessed him grow big enough to cross a creek and venture off to see a possibly dead animal, yet small enough to think an open-eyed raccoon was just taking a nap.

I won’t always be there when my kids explore the woods or the world, but for now, I’m grateful to be present.

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Summary: This article reflects on the delicate balance of allowing children to explore their surroundings while also keeping a watchful eye. It highlights the nostalgia of childhood freedom and the modern parenting instinct to protect. As kids discover the world, parents navigate their own experiences to ensure their children can safely learn and grow.