Helicopter Parenting vs. Free Range Parenting – Is There a Happy Medium?

I have been trying to find the happy medium between being a “helicopter mom” (a parent who hovers over her child like a helicopter and takes over every facet of his life) and a “free range mom” (a parent who allows my child to move around without constant adult supervision or action on his part) and y’all, it is hard.

I was born and raised in the 80s and early 90s, which, like many of you, meant I could ride my bike to a friend’s house, walk through the woods from my bus stop to my house, stay home alone, play outside until the street lights came on, drink water from the hose, sit at the magazine rack at the grocery store and read Teen Beat or Bop magazine alone, and generally not have my mom or dad watching every move I made or even knowing where I was at any given time.  Thank goodness, because there was a time that I took the keys to my dad’s riding lawnmower (down a not busy side street) to drive myself and 3 other kids to a friend’s house that was about 2 miles away to go swimming – in a large creek/small lake – completely unsupervised by any adults.  (Sorry Dad).  My parents did not try to take over every facet of my life – I printed and submitted all my own college applications.  I drove myself to take the ACT.  I applied for part-time summer jobs on my own.  Neither of parents came to Camp War Eagle with me.  I cannot remember a single time that either of my parents ever called a teacher or the parent of a friend to try to “fix” something for me.  I have been thinking about how that independence was so very good for me in many ways, but times are so different and things that were safe then are not really safe now.  I mean, have you seen the pictures of the contraptions that passed for “car seats” for babies in the 50s and 60s?!?  Yes, our parents turned out ok but I think we can all agree that current child restraint systems are a much needed improvement.  On the other hand, I have witnessed first-hand parents interfering in their teenage children (and even GROWN (like 30 years old!)) children’s lives in ways that make me wish Jesus was returning to save us all this very day because I. Can’t. Even.  

I want to be a mom who is nurturing and involved…and I want my almost five-year-old son to be able to be self-sufficient and able to pick himself up by his bootstraps if needed.  I want him to be a good man, a good husband, and a good daddy one day.  Aside from giving him chores to instill responsibility, I have encouraged my son’s independence with baby steps of letting him go to the men’s restroom by himself (my husband suggested that he shouldn’t do this until he understands he doesn’t need to pull his pants and underwear down completely to go, but oh well).  Helicopter parents might suggest that this is not safe, because some weirdo stranger could molest my son in the bathroom.  Free range parents would say, “right on – let him become independent and teach him that no one should touch him inappropriately.”  Here’s the thing.  I can watch my kid go in and out of the bathroom and I know I have taught him that people need privacy in the bathroom and that NO ONE should touch his private parts.  There will come a day that I can’t take him to and from the bathroom and it will be a little weird that he is coming in the women’s restroom with me.  One night around bedtime, after a trip to Chappy’s Deli earlier that day, my son realized he had left his toy in the booth where we sat and he cried and cried and begged for us to “go now” to pick it up.  My helicopter mom instinct (and, let’s be honest, my mommy heart) wanted to go get it for him right then.  Instead, my “free range” instinct had me tell him, “Buddy, if you are going to take something important to a restaurant or anywhere else, you have to remember to get it before you go.  We can check with Chappy’s the next time we are there to see if someone turned it in.”   These things haven’t been so difficult, and I have patted myself on the back for instilling a little independence and accountability in my son.

But then…a few weeks ago I took my son to the Summer Swing Concert in Opelika.  When we first arrived, I was talking to a friend and he started playing nearby (literally less than 10 yards away).  I could see him in my periphery.  When I finished my conversation, I went over to get him so we could set up our chairs for the concert and some woman made a slightly passive aggressive comment that was totally intended to make me feel bad for not hovering over him and actually told me that “you can’t be too careful.”  Geez.  This is EXACTLY what parents DON’T need.   I would be lying if I said that didn’t bother me on multiple levels and made me question my parenting for a hot second.  Later, my son asked if he could go play in that same area.  I could feel the anxiety coming over me at the idea of letting him play in the twilight of the day with kids I don’t know in an area where I could only partially see him but certainly couldn’t get to him if someone were to grab him.  First I said NO.  He wasn’t happy about it, but he accepted it.  He later asked (ok, begged) again and this time I said YES…BUT:  you must stay [in this designated area where I can see you], do NOT talk to or go with adult strangers, do NOT get in the creek.  I had to get up several times to go check in with him and my heart pounded the entire time worrying about the worst possible case scenario, but here is what happened:  he did not get in the creek, but climbed over the wall, got a little outside of the designated area…and he found a friend his age and they caught frogs.  He and the friend brought the frogs to show me (and to his friend’s mom).  We both grew a little that night.

I don’t know what the happy medium is…I am still searching for it and probably always will be.  I do know this to be true:  as long as we are acting in a way that is meant to promote our children in a way that nurtures them and allows them to grow and become productive, caring, hardworking adults, we are doing the right thing.  There will always be someone to criticize or judge, but I’m gonna leave the judgin’ to Jesus.