On Raising Adults, or Roots and Wings

My aunt Jill likes to tell the following story.

When her oldest son was beginning his freshman year at one of the largest universities in the Midwest, they packed up the family minivan and sent him off alone on the morning of move-in day. She and her husband followed a short time later.

By the time they arrived at their son’s dorm, he had unloaded and put away all of his belongings. He proudly showed them around his new digs. He was already familiar with the campus, and knew exactly what was expected of him during orientation.

There was nothing more for them to do, so my aunt and uncle took their son out to dinner, then simply hugged him good-bye.

As they were driving home, my uncle turned to his wife and said, “He doesn’t need us anymore.”

“Congratulations,” said my aunt. “You succeeded. We succeeded.”

What she meant, of course, was that they’d raised their son from childhood to adulthood. He was ready to be on his own.

“You have to give your children roots and wings,” my aunt likes to say. By this, she means give them a strong foundation that allows them to feel grounded and confident, to feel like they have a launch pad from which to take flight.

In an age of increasing “helicopter parenting” (see articles here and here), the concept of roots and wings seems to be losing ground. I know plenty of well-meaning helicopter parents. And as I am daily raising my sweet three-year-old girl, I can see how easy it would be to fall into the helicopter parenting trap. As parents, we want our kids to be cared for. We want them to be safe, to succeed in life. We want them to thrive emotionally. We want them to win. And we may think that helicopter parenting is doing whatever it takes to ensure those things. Unfortunately, studies show that helicopter parenting ends up having the opposite effect.

And so – I try to resist the urge to helicopter parent. In many ways, helicopter parenting is faster and easier than stepping back and merely providing guidance, easier than taking your hands off. I remind myself regularly of the old adage, “Give a man a fish and he eats for a day; teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime.”

The thing is, the teaching part is not easy. It can be frustrating and even painful. It’s time-consuming. When we’re having a crazy morning, when we’re running 15 minutes behind, my urge is to help my daughter get dressed, doing much of the work for her, rather than patiently stepping back and allowing her the five extra minutes – and the subsequent feelings of self-sufficiency and accomplishment – that come with allowing her to dress herself. It’s tempting, too, to set out her clothes for her, thereby ensuring that they match. It’s tempting to shoo her out of the kitchen when she wants to help me unload groceries, because she makes a mess of my organized pantry. It’s tempting to send her out of the bedroom when she wants to help me make the bed, because it takes twice as long when she’s “helping.” It’s tempting to pick up her toys for her because it’s much faster, tempting to put her dirty clothes in the hamper for her.

But I’m slowly learning that the glow of pride that results from stepping back, from allowing her to partner with me or to let her do things unassisted, even when she initially resists, is priceless. Even at just three years old, these opportunities are giving her that foundation of confidence – they’re giving her roots to grow upward from, like a strong oak tree.

The concept of roots and wings also means allowing her to fail. Granted, there haven’t been many big opportunities for failure yet, but I try to resist the urge to shelter her from the small failures, the ones she can handle, the ones that teach her to get up and keep moving forward. Yes, it becomes tedious repeating, “It’s okay. Try again,” but we are already seeing the value. And when she has failed a few times at something, is encouraged to keep working at it, and then finally makes progress – again, the glow of pride that results is priceless. With each challenge she overcomes, her roots grow deeper, and she soars a little higher.

And it’s worth it, because in the end, I don’t want to raise a child. I want to raise an adult, one who is capable of solving problems, of trying and failing without falling apart, one who is persistent and tenacious and capable.

Yesterday was her first day of preschool. We spent about three weeks preparing. At first, she was resistant to the idea of starting at a new school, making new friends, meeting a new teacher, but I made a point of involving her in all the preparation activities, giving her opportunities for ownership. We went to Target with her school supplies list, and she took charge of finding every item we needed to purchase. We shopped online for her first lunch box, and she was allowed to give her opinion, and then to choose from the few that I thought were the most adequate. We went shopping for new shoes, and she was allowed to choose from a few pairs that were appropriate and fell within the right price range. None of her choices would have been my choices, and it took some effort not to override her decisions, but I could see the confidence that came out of the [limited] autonomy inherent in the decision-making process.

By the time the first day rolled around, she was ready. She got up early, got herself dressed, helped pack her lunch and her backpack. She insisted on carrying everything into school without help, and found her backpack hook and cubby all by herself.

There was nothing more for me to do but kiss her goodbye. And off she went – no tears, no nerves. She was all confidence.

I was a little teary, because she’s only three. But I was proud, too, and even a little amazed by her self-sufficiency. Clearly, the roots we have tried to give her helped her sprout her first set of wings.

She came home with an assignment in her backpack – an “About Me” worksheet. I filled in the blanks last night as she dictated to me. One of the questions was, “What makes you happiest?” She thought about that one for a moment, then said, “Helping mama make the bed and put away the groceries. Helping cook dinner.”

I was stunned. Clearly, my efforts at teaching and letting go are worth far more than I realized.

Now, we just have to keep at it for another 15 years.