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This week, we got a letter from our 11 year-old daughter who is attending a summer camp in North Carolina for 5 weeks. She has attended the summer camp my wife and I director for years, but last year was the first time she was away from here.
The outside of the letter had three messages. Two were identical: "I love you" with heart signs rather than the word love. The third message was much larger:
"I Don't Miss You"
It made me smile. It might seem unusual to be delighted to see a letter from a child that says “I Don’t Miss You!”, but few things make us any happier.
OK, I will be honest and say that it initially stings a tad: “How dare you not miss me! I am missing you!” But being a camp director for so long and regularly seeing campers develop confidence, I can close my eyes and picture our child flourishing without us.
Ultimately, that is our goal as parents. It just seems to come a little fast.
It reminds me of teaching our twin boys, Wiley and Liam, to ride their bikes. I cannot remember if they were 4 or 5, but I remember the exact moment vividly. Susie (my wife) and I were on two of the camp's tennis courts, each helping one of the twin boys to ride. The training wheels were off, so we were running next to them and steadying the bikes while they developed a feel for their balance. We worked for 15 or 20 minutes before they started to get a feel for it.
They were excited to try themselves. Of course, we still worried about them falling and skinning their arms and knees.
Susie was helping Liam when he became completely comfortable: “Let go Mommy. I don’t need you anymore!”
I remember thinking “I am so proud!” Moments later, Wiley was biking as well. I was beaming. Excited, I looked to Susie.
She was crying. Six words were ringing in her ears.
I DON’T NEED YOU ANY MORE.
For a brief moment, she did not see her sons’ triumph of coordination. Instead, she was sending them away to college and hearing “Cats in the Cradle”.
Happily, it only lasted for 10-15 seconds. She quickly recovered and celebrated with the boys. But it serves as a reminder of the mildly inherent cruelty of parenting. We know we are doing our job best when the people we love most need us least.
