It’s a simple thing. When riding her bike, or walking in our neighborhood, or anywhere, to be honest. My daughter stops to pick a dandelion, or six. She wants to smell the flowers and say how nice they smell. She wants to gently touch flowers and comment on how beautiful they are.
It’s so easy to want to rush her, or push her, or “keep her moving”. We have an agenda, whatever it may be that day, and that agenda must maintained. Yet, does it? It’s a constant reminder to not make her into “us”. When was the last time I stopped to smell the flowers, or acknowledge how beautiful they were?
When was the last time I got out of a car, or jumped off a bike, or stopped running? Walked over, bent down and took a few minutes to smell the flowers? This is a daily acknowledgement of her. A daily thing to observe and take in the world around her. She’s connecting with nature and I’m fighting the urge to force her to move faster to get… where?
Now, there are times we have places to go and things to get done. Times I need to redirect and keep her focused on the task at hand. It’s not as often as you would think, though.
It feels we are always putting children in our bubble. Forcing them into a perspective we’ve developed over the years. Taking the all the good and all the bad, not really anyazlying which is which, and then putting them into it. There needs to be distance between us and them for them to figure it out.
When my daughter climbs, or jumps, or tries new things, she would often ask for help. A normal and natural thing. She would ask to hold my hand, or some other form of help. From things I’d read I started telling her, “I’ll spot you, but you have to try it on your own.” The goal was for her to use her own power, her own strength, her own abilities to move forward, or pull herself up. Yet, know that were she to fall, or worried she would fall, dad would be there.
Then when she had the confidence to know she could do it, she wouldn’t need me. Which, may be the best and hardest part of being a parent. The “I can do this on my own”. I don’t need you. Awesome. You don’t need me? Awesome?
Could it be she’s doing the same thing with me? She’ll stop and smell the flowers at every chance, until she no longer needs to spot me. I have yet to tell her to get off her bike and come over and smell the flowers. I let her do it nearly everytime she wants, but she’s still spotting me.
A Better Father 