It takes a village

It's turned out (so far) being pretty great raising kids in the middle of a small but dense city. We thought it would be a big sacrifice for the kids not having a lot of nature to run around in, but so far at least the city has many compensations. For last few months I have let Henry play outside unsupervised. He's trustworthy, knows not to go into the street, and stays near our house if he's out front or plays in our backyard or that of our wonderful neighbors next door. This has been great for him; he spends hours outside doing all sorts of things. We also let him run ahead of us (or sometimes go all alone) to Gran's house; there are no streets to cross. Bad things could happen; he could be snatched by a bad guy, or a million other nightmares could occur. But I weigh those remote negatives against the evident positives of Henry's independence and freedom and self-confidence. A square block of 40 or so houses is vast universe for a small boy.

Two incidents in the last week have been cause for reflection. On Sunday, the phone rang and it was David, the guy who owns the hair salon and photo studio on the corner. He wanted to tell us that he was putting out a sign and closing his sidewalk because he was afraid of the potential for falling ice and snow from his roof. He wanted us to know because he often sees Henry running by his shop on the way to Gran's, and Henry knows he can't read! Then last week, about 3 in the afternoon on a sunny day, the doorbell rang and I could see it was a middle-school kid from the nearby school. I figured he were selling something for fund-raising, but instead he asked me, "Is your son playing outside?" He and his two friends rang the bell because they saw Henry and were concerned that he was maybe too young to be outside by himself and they were worried he might follow them home. One piped up, "He said that tree was his house!"

When incidents like these happen, my first instinct is to feel shame and embarrassment that these other people think I'm a bad mom (and when middle-school boys are concerned about your parenting, that's a bad sign!). But my second thought is to damp down those fears and instead feel gratitude for a community of people who care about my child. Maybe they think he should be inside, but what's most important is that they are watching out for him. I thanked those boys for their care and concern. It is pretty remarkable that they would ring a stranger's doorbell out of concern for another child. Bad things can always happen, and I don't feel 100% easy about my "free-range parenting." But I do feel proud of Henry's maturity, independence, and skills in navigating the world. And I feel good that so many people seem to watching out for him too.