I have two completely different stories to tell.
A few months ago, Siena decided to throw a tantrum, a knock-down dragged-out doosie of a screamer, at the shopping mall food court. My wife returned from the bathroom with her, at which point she screamed, sat, and refused to return to our table. So with no remaining options, we left her there, many yards away but within eyesight, and with more frustration than embarrassment we waited for her to scream it out, alone in the middle of the floor.
For many minutes, passersby would either stand high like prairie dogs, looking for parents, or crouch down and attempt comforting conversation. I waved to the prairie dogs; the crouchers made things worse. Later, after I gave up and dragged her kicking and screaming to a more secluded corner, a woman approached with a need to verify Siena wasn’t being abused. I felt insulted by the question but held my tongue. Besides, there was no way I could convince anyone that Siena actually wanted to scream like that.
Now I’ll tell you a second story, filled with big belly laughs and childhood fun. This story is about Oren, who loves the game I call Watch Out. I put him on my shoulders and lean way over, pretending to tip him into bushes and trees. Oren’s favorite part is when he falls completely upside-down onto my back. With his knees still over my shoulders and my hands on his legs, he flips over and bounces the back of his head against my belt. I spin around, wondering where he went, and finally I bounce him high enough for his little stomach muscles to complete a sit-up back up to my shoulders. His laughter during all of this is truly wonderful.
Here’s the thing. I know full well that I can’t tell this story with people thinking, “Whoa, you better make sure you don’t drop him!” and “Are you sure that’s good for his back?” and “What if he goes back but you’re not holding his legs?” People who see this get really nervous too, because it looks, well, dangerous.
Both of these stories are about safety disguised as danger. Climbing trees, performing in recitals, learning to use scissors or a bicycle: If I can’t bring risk into my children’s lives, then I’m not doing my job as a parent. It’s a very strange thing, having to defend this.