Cooling the Copter
The blades are whirring, I can hear them still.
That’s my helicopter parent whirlybird of a thing (I was going to say ‘inner’ helicopter parent, but who am I kidding, this thing is everywhere) – it’s been on standby since I dropped my almost teenage son off at a retreat for the weekend.
I was concerned about a few things. He can be a bit silly and impulsive. He can sometimes behave in a way that’s not even him, but some kind of version of him that is brought to life by being in a group of peers.
He had two friends attending the event for the first time, Molly and Jess, who had both come from a distance, and didn’t have a ton of experience staying away from home. It was Jess’s first double-overnighter. I knew Molly and Jess’s mothers’ blades were still on whir-mode as well. I had discussed with my son how he would behave, and how he would be a leader for his two friends who were attending, but I was still concerned that they could be left to their own devices and what that could mean.
That list of concerns I mentioned are all normal teenage things at a weekendlong retreat with friends, especially in an open, supportive and fun community as the Quebec-sherbrooke Presbytery of the United Church’s Youth Forums, now ticking for four decades in the region, with two retreats per year. These events have grown some formidable youth, including Shanna Bernier who currently organizes them.
I was once in Shanna’s role, and addressed parents with the same concerns as I have – reassuring them that things would go well and not to worry and to allow the copter blades to cool down.
Funny to think, here I was doing that thing I had witnessed, unconcerned at the time, confident of outcomes, guidance, and behaviour, that the leadership team I had assembled was prepared for a group of teenagers for the weekend and all that comes with it. I was in the other shoes. The shoes that go with the helicopter.
His first retreat was in November – he knew some folks from the week-long camp he attends at the end of June each year, so there was pressure off there. He then attended a wider youth event in Ottawa in February. So, with this technically being his third, he had zero qualms. He just looked forward to it.
Those events he attended on his own – drop-off and pick-up were the only parental involvement. That way he had to respond to other voices, other rules, and that would be good for him. I trusted all involved, and in the moments that he did act up, he was reeled in. He was more prepared within himself this time.
I spoke with Shanna about doing some wide games with the groups on the Friday evening, and was very happy to find myself in that same easy-going, unusual youth community again. I was happy when I received huge hugs from Molly and Jess (and their mothers – who had both attended Youth Forum in the past themselves, once upon a time). When their mothers left, I was pleased to be a fly on the wall and see them seamlessly blending with the group, interacting and stepping up to do things, having fun.
And when it came time for me to lead, my son, who is now taller than me, came to stand beside me and said, “This is my Mum.” Announcing our bond to the whole group – possibly even several times, if memory serves me correctly. “Enjoy it while it lasts...” said his friend Marcus with a bit of a grumble. I said I sure would. I am proud that he is my son, I’m proud that I am his mother. I was glad that he was demonstrating that he is too.
The group, once several members had participated in an enthusiastic partial rendition of “Hakuna Matata” from The Lion King (me included), sprang into action playing the games I introduced. I watched people meet for the first time. I saw Samuel, Minister at Plymouth Trinity United Church, where the event was being held; playfully join in much to everyone’s delight.
Part of me wanted to stay. I wanted to stay for the whole weekend. I wanted to just be a fly on the wall. But I also know that allowing my boy this chance to be in community without me at times is really important to his growth, to his personal space, and even to his sense of self-control.
So, when my introductory wide games were done, and Samuel was invited to say some words of blessing and opening for the start of the event, I exited stage right. I had had my hugs immediately following the games, there was no need to go back for more, and away I went, my blades whirring in the Sherbrooke night.
There was a little ache all weekend. A little fly that was not on the wall. A little space for growing. A little trust invested too.
While in the future I may return to help with shepherding and leadership at these retreats that helped form me and many of my friends, for now I am so pleased that the space continues to be occupied and celebrated by a new generation of inspired young people.
Here’s to simple youth traditions, and allowing others to bask in the glow of their own community-building experience. There is something special in that passing of the torch.