My son turned 5 recently.
Five.
It’s a milestone that did not come as any surprise. After all, he’s been reminding anyone who will listen for months that his birthday was coming up. Since the big day he has not interacted with a single person without first informing them that he is, indeed, 5.
Even still, and despite the fact that I’ve been down this road once before with my oldest daughter, there’s something about 5 that seems much more grown up than 4.
All of these thoughts tumbled around in my head as I bobbed in the water at a local community pool, watching my newly minted 5-year-old climb the stairs to the hydro tube slide over and over again. In so many ways his ascent seemed like a metaphor for his life.
You see, when we first arrived at the pool he and his dad went on the slide together several times. Connor seemed to appreciate the company and even needed the reassurance only a parent can provide when you’re approaching something as daunting as the first time down a new, steep slide.
Later, I went with him a couple of times. But soon he was totally happy to leave me bobbing in the water at the slide’s end and make his way to the stair tower on his own. He looked back at me several times as he climbed, making sure I was still there watching and waiting. He looked back less and less with each trip up the steps until finally he was gleefully scampering to the top with little regard for me at all.
Each time his descent down the slide had him grinning widely, and then with big, strong, 5-year-old strokes he paddled his way to the side of the pool where he exited, and did it all again.
It was as if I could see him growing older with every climb.
That’s the way of childhood, and really, it is how it is supposed to be. Parents are there to love, teach, protect and encourage their children but at some point it is imperative that we let them go. The steps that lead upward to the slide of life are steep and slippery and it is almost certain they will trip at some point, and probably fall. But if we’ve done our jobs right they will know they can look back to their parents for an encouraging smile, a thumbs up and receive the strength to refocus their eyes on their climb. They know what they need to do — and that it will be even more worthwhile knowing they did it on their own.
As parents, we never really leave. I was vigilant in keeping to my post near the slide, watching from a distance to offer support as needed. But the more he repeated the process, the less I intervened. My role became an onlooker to see the joy that could come from his independent strides.
I don’t relish the idea of moving away from center of this adorable boy’s world — and surely (fingers crossed) I’m at least a few years from the time I will become the onlooker that I describe. But I am trying to prepare myself — and him — to tackle life in our eventual roles. Teaching him to be independent. And teaching me to savor the sweetness of our current relationship, regardless of the stage.
