Fostering Independence

This week, we celebrate International Walk to School Day. Yep, honest. It's a real event. All over the world, children, families and schools will hold events celebrating the simple joy of walking to school.  As such, I thought it fitting to write about what our experiment to live without a car is manifesting within my own child.

In my professional world, we frequently tout independence as one of many benefits to walking or bicycling to and from school.  As a result, I also encounter ongoing concerns surrounding children's safety and well-being. I acknowledge that I do not directly deal with the issues on a daily basis since most of my work is in policy, not programs, but I (and my organization) haven't become so mired in the policy that we lose sight of what those crash statistics really mean.

I am also a mom, so the risks are incredibly poignant. The thought of harm coming to my one and only is enough to cause my knees to buckle and tears to well in my eyes. But I also know that I am limited in my ability to protect her. So, I can either wrap her in bubble wrap and lock her in her room forever (as tempting as that may be), or I can parent her in ways that teach her to confidently and wisely navigate her world. I confess that I haven't read a ton of parenting books, and my own childhood doesn't really provide the model for how to do this, but I'm hedging my bets that the latter option might work better for her in the long run.

A month ago, in my post, Beyond Expectations, I wrote about my daughter's early impressions to living without a family vehicle. One of her first observations was that it provided her with a sense of belonging to Williamsburg that didn't exist when we had a car. I didn't need any motivation at that point, but it definitely made an impact on me.

We walk and bicycle to school routinely. That's not unique.  But I increasingly hear her expressing a desire to travel to school on her own.  She's spreading her wings, and she wants to test them out. And since she's a 6th-grader, I think that's appropriate. The question is when.

Earlier in the week I introduced her to the myriad of options at the dining commons on the William & Mary campus.  It's an easy walk for us, and one of her first questions was would I let her go there alone. Most parents will resonate with my answer: "We'll see."

Well, this past weekend we hosted one of her friends for a sleepover, and they thought it would be fun to have dinner at the dining commons -- by themselves.  Ummm ... she had me.

I explained that I couldn't just fully release them, but I was willing to give them a really long leash (euphemistically, of course!).  They were given money, and they were allowed to leave the house three minutes before I did. We agreed that they could order what they wanted, purchase their food, and dine at their own table, but I would be somewhere in the vicinity.

All was going according to plan, and I even fell farther behind when I stopped to talk to neighbors. As I approached the dining commons, however, I saw them standing outside. First thought: maybe they weren't ready for such a huge leap afterall.  That wasn't the case. "It's closed.  Apparently college students go elsewhere on a Friday night. Can we go to New Town?" they asked. "Only if I ride the same bus," I responded. I momentarily grabbed parental control again and tried to dictate where I wanted to go in New Town, but I caught myself and reminded all of us that they were on their own, and that included figuring out which stop to get off, and I would step back into the shadows.

They successfully (and very easily) navigated their way from the stop at Legacy Hall to Panera, ordered and paid for their dinner and, from my stalking position, seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves.  Afterwards, they wanted to go to the candy store, and I reminded all of us that this was their experiment. Their mission was to make good decisions while being as independent as possible, and my job was to make sure they got home.  I'll admit that my answer was different than my internal thought of "are you kidding?" So, after dinner, they ventured off to the candy store, and I enjoyed people watching from my bench.

They emerged, loot in hand, and we boarded the Trolley to return home. It was on the journey home when my 11-year-old pleaded with me to help her with her money. I ventured over to their seat, held out my hand, and she plopped a wad of bills and coins into my hand. I felt a small sense of satisfaction that she still needed me.

We got home, and I looked at the receipts and her change. She'd ensured that she received the correct change for each of her transactions, but when I looked at the receipt from the candy store, it dawned on me that they had spent $15 there!

Clearly, we still have some lessons to learn -- the first being that $15 comes out of her own pocket.

(Commercial plug: I encourage you to celebrate International Walk to School Day this week or this month. Even if you can't actually walk to school, park a couple of blocks from school and walk from there. Or just go for a walk with your child somewhere in your neighborhood. I'd be willing to bet money (small amounts, of course) that you will both learn something about your world and each other. And if you do it, let me know!)