Benign Neglect

Today is R's fourth day at Girl Scout camp. I pick her up tomorrow morning. She went last year too, when she was only 8. But even then, I felt only a vague and nonchalant, "Oh I hope she has fun and doesn't get hurt."

A preschool teacher I know has called this behavior letting my children have their independence. I call it highly developed benign neglect. Child Protective Services might have another name for it. Maybe I shouldn't be a parent.

But really, I would worry if it weren't for the fact that R. makes friends with almost everyone she meets, everywhere she goes.

For example, when she was about to turn 5, we were walking to the local swim center, and we passed a man who looked like he'd been wearing the same clothes for a year without coming anywhere near a Laundromat or a shower. He was unshaven, and listing to starboard, and I'm pretty sure he was shy some teeth. He was also carrying a paper sack that was suspiciously bottle-shaped.

But other than that, he seemed like a nice guy.

I have this policy of treating human beings like human beings whenever possible. But I'm also not an extravert. While he and I politely nodded a hello (abiding by that unspoken social contract that keeps so much genuine interaction between strangers from happening), R. skipped up to him and said enthusiastically, "HELLO! Would you like to come to my birthday party?"

I felt several things at once. I was secretly hoping that his dance card was already full, but I also didn't want to be rude and un-invite him. (I mean, if vicious bug-eyed aliens invaded the earth, I'd probably try to figure out how to say "Begone foul creatures!" in just the right way so they wouldn't be offended.) So anyway, I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable about turning her down, which is what he and I both knew he had to do. And I wanted R. to continue to be friendly to the world, but I wanted her to learn that you can't invite a total stranger to your birthday party.

Or can you?

I tell you what; she's going to have one interesting life. She's got the angle on entertaining angels unawares. Or inviting bug-eyed aliens to tea.

...I just read this post to four-year-old S., who has been patiently waiting for me to finish - having only said, "Are you done yet??" twelve times in two minutes.

And she said, "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" and I said, "What?" and she said, "I want you to be a parent."

So I also just read the last bit to her too (to stall more), and she said, "I did not say it twelve times."

I'd better go now.