“You have homework,” Alex said to me after her first day of seventh grade.
She handed me a piece of paper with a single question on it.
“What’s so tough about being a parent?”
The teacher who created the assignment allowed two blank lines for an answer. That was not going to be enough space.
Here is my answer.
What’s So Tough About Being a Parent?
I’m sorry, but I can’t answer this question with two lines on half a sheet of paper.
The daily grind can be tough. It’s not easy to cook dinner between driving one child to dance and piano lessons while the other needs to be at the baseball field.
Providing food, shelter, education and, hopefully, most other things the family wants is a challenge.
It’s tough getting the kids out of bed, making breakfast, packing lunches and getting to the school bus when you’re so tired you can barely stand.
And it’s not always easy to remember what you learned 35 years ago and summon the patience to help your middle schooler complete her math homework.
Then, when all that is done, you have to find time for yourself as a man or woman, husband or wife.
That can all be tough but, as parenting goes, that’s the easy part.
The toughest thing about being a parent is letting go.
You leave the hospital with a baby girl who’s completely reliant on you for her existence. You dedicate yourself to caring for her, providing for her, nurturing her and keeping her safe.
She is the center of your life.
The baby girl grows into a toddler and wants to walk on her own. Then she wants to run.
You follow behind, holding your breath each time she stumbles, hoping she doesn’t fall.
Inevitably, she does fall, collecting bumps and bruises she wouldn’t have had if she had ridden in the stroller, held her mother’s hand or just slowed down. You swallow the lump in your throat as you let her get up, dust herself off and start running again.
Next, she’s a kindergartener and you watch as your five-year-old gets on the school bus. The door closes and the bus drives away with the most precious person in your life.
What if she’s scared?
What if the teacher doesn’t care for her as much as you do?
What if the other children are mean to her?
Again, you swallow hard and let her go.
Then comes elementary school and she wants to cross the street by herself.
What if she doesn’t look just once?
She wants to ride her bike to her friend’s house.
What if she forgets not to talk to strangers?
In middle school, she wants to go to the movies with her friends or shop at the mall.
Will she act responsibly?
Will she be lucky enough to avoid the idiots?
What is the consequence of just one lapse in judgment?
In high school she wants the car keys.
Is she ready?
Is she responsible enough?
Will fortune keep her away from the wrong place at the wrong time?
What if she looks away just for a second?
And then a young man you’ve never met shows up at your door with his own keys.
Can you trust her judgment that he’s responsible and will treat her respectfully?
Throughout all of this, there are failures—bumps and bruises she might have avoided if she had ridden a little longer, held her mother’s hand or just slowed down. And each time you suffer as she gets up, dusts herself off and starts running again.
The reward for your suffering is the opportunity to let go again the next day, the next week or the next year.
You try to communicate the benefit of your experience. But she thinks you can’t possibly relate to her problems. She can’t fathom that you, too, were once 13 years old and might have learned a thing or two that could help her.
What’s so tough about being a parent?
Feeling the pain each time your child suffers emotionally or physically. Trying to communicate the information and demonstrate the behavior she needs to make intelligent, responsible choices. And, most of all, overcoming your fear, forcing yourself to let go over and over again, and hoping you’ve done enough to keep your child safe.
Having now completed the parenting journey, I still think letting go is the hardest thing. But I would add that it’s also the goal.
Every act of letting go gives your child the opportunity to become more independent, more confident and more prepared for whatever comes next.
This story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.
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Yes, a thousand times, yes. It wasn’t until Erin hit college that I was finally able to make the switch from being the parent who tries her hardest to prevent mishaps or bad choices, to being one who is there to aid and support when they inevitably happen.
College doesn’t give us much choice in that regard–at least it didn’t for me. I told Alex and Jake I was done making rules. They were free to make their own decisions. But they would also be responsible for the consequences of those decisions.
You know, just like our parents did.
Very nice writing and so real to the point Mitch.
2 Lines not for me. Maybe about 2,000 or more with my daughter which you have seen just a little.
Thank you again for another great story.
No way two lines is enough to write about Alexis.