Learning to let go

The transformation is dramatic. One moment they are clinging vines, attaching themselves to you like limpets, the next they are pulling away as they test their roots. I'm speaking of children.

Parents fondly recall a time when their tiny tots were completely dependent on them. Their presence was solicited every waking hour, their brief departures viewed as a betrayal.

That first day at school was heart-wrenching. You stood there, your heart in your mouth as you saw that lower lip quiver at the thought of abandonment, the eyes fill with tears and the face slowly work itself into the very picture of bereavement. You knew you had to be strong, to let go of that little hand.

Heart in mouth, you moved away slowly even as you felt you were leaving behind a part of yourself. The wrench of separation was equally hard for both adult and child.

One last hug, one last kiss and then you moved away without a backward glance just in case you changed your mind and gathered your loved one back in your arms, convincing yourself that the time to let go wasn't just yet.

The first year or so of this temporary separation was bitter-sweet. Your baby was growing up and pride fought a battle with a longing for the status quo. Each time you went to school to pick up your precious one, your heart filled with joy at the sheer happiness that flooded your child's face as soon as he spotted you, the shout of welcome and the tiny arms that held on to your neck with almost claustrophobic tightness.

And then there was the rude awakening. On a morning like any other, as you bent down to hug and kiss your little one, a little hand kept you at a distance as a mouth mumbled something about no more overt shows of affection. Shock and dismay silenced the words on your lips and, as you looked at the tiny face mutinously turned away, you realised the awful truth. Your 'baby' wanted to spread his wings and if you wanted to see him fly, all you could do was wait on the ground as he took wing.

A father I know learnt this bitter lesson one day when his six-year-old daughter, whom he had dropped to school as usual and whose satchel he carried right into the classroom as he always did.

As soon as the bag was deposited on the desk, he turned to his little girl, expecting the usual hug. But, imagine his chagrin when the head refused to turn in his direction and he found himself being dismissed with a peremptory, "You must go now. It's time for assembly".

Not believing his ears, he tried to meet her gaze but it remained fixed on the ground. Feeling not a little hurt, he gathered his pride and walked away, determined to get to the bottom of this strange behaviour when school was over.

That evening he listened as she explained that she was all grown up now and demonstrations of affection only embarrassed her in front of her friends. Seeing the look on his face, she softened the blow with a gentle, "But you can hug me at home".

So, parents learn the hard way that they can be a source of embarrassment. And it only gets worse as the years pass. They are reminded time and again that there is no need to check on them every minute of the day. Don't the grown-ups get it? Any sign of being a namby-pamby is the kiss of death in one's peer group.

And, a last word of advice. Dear parents, never ever make the mistake of trying to be a 'pal' to your children's friends or trying to show them how 'with it' you are. The phrase itself is a dead giveaway. Just act your age and spare them their blushes.