I’ve recently relaxed my rules for outside play again. In the last few weeks, I’ve been on heightened alert, where Matilda was not allowed to play outside without an adult present. Why? Well, there have been a bunch of toothless bastards trolling the streets and snatching little girls. The bastards, by the way, deserve the worst society can offer them. No mercy whatsoever.
But I digress.
Matilda is now allowed to play outside again. My nervousness about it hasn’t abated. However, I’ve read dozens of articles about child safety over the past few weeks and have shared the knowledge with Matilda. I’m freaking out and checking every few minutes. And she’s been there each time.
But there is no way to ignore that icy knife that suddenly slices through your heart when you, for no reason whatsoever, feel the need to run to the door and look outside to get an exact location on the children. Not just your own, but the entire neighborhood.
“Okay, Matilda. Check. Jessica. Check. Grace. Check. Job. Check. Katie. Check. Kelsey. Check.” And on.
As a parent, it is my job to worry. However, it is also my job to allow a child to discover her own boundaries and make mistakes while not under the constant watchful eye of a parent. I’m supposed to teach her how to use the world properly and, eventually, I’m going to have to take the training wheels off of life.
Still, I check every few minutes.
The last time I looked out the door Matilda and two of her friends had their backs pressed up against it. There was a roving pack of forty geese pressing in on them. The geese had the girls pinned down.
It was like watching a war movie.
“Go get bread!”
“No! It will only cause them to advance further.”
“I never got to say goodbye to my teddy bear.”
“Call in an air strike.”
Eventually, the geese were defeated. But the scars remain. Ever since, I’ve been walking up behind the girls and hissing like an angry goose. And they jump three feet in the air.
Ah the joys of parenthood. One part comforter. One part protector. One part torturer.
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