Roots + Wings

(This article was originally published January 7, 2023, in the Southern Spice section of the Times-Georgian)

“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.” -Hodding Carter

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When my daughter was small, she had a baby blue walker with a polka dotted seat and a tiny plastic tray with beads and rings to amaze her and pique her curiosity. Before she could walk independently, I’d plop her adorable, squishy body into the walker so she could practice toddling around the kitchen and dining room, striving to master her balance and attain some traction, before she made it to the “big show” of walking on her own. 

I’d slowly push her to one side of the kitchen and then retreat to a far corner so she could independently make her way to me. Slowly, alternating between strained concentration and spontaneous giggles, she’d push herself on shoebox feet to my open arms. And then, in spite of my desire to do otherwise, without fail, I’d push her back again to start the process anew. 

This back and forth sets the stage for the rest of childhood and adolescence with our children, a constant give and take between drawing them close to protect them and urging them away to encourage their autonomy.

John N. Morris addresses the most difficult job of parents in his poem “For Julia, In the Deep Water.” Learning to swim serves as a metaphor for a child breaking free from their parents and gaining self-sufficiency. Morris’s narrator hires a swim instructor “because she does not love” his daughter and can “lead [her] into the deep water” without giving in to his daughter’s protests and cries. He knows (as do we) that it’s all in the daughter’s best interest, but the entire purpose of parents, to prepare our kids to go out into the world, unfolds painfully because “[i]t is with our skill we live in what kills us.”

My daughter, no longer the single-minded toddler in her walker, is now a determined young woman looking at grad schools and other opportunities after her impending graduation.  Discussions of schools, their admission requirements, and their strengths and weaknesses dominate our time together. Tours of universities in Colorado and Oregon populate her calendar and fill me simultaneously with pride and sorrow. 

For nearly 20 years, Izzy and I have adhered to our assigned roles, mother and daughter, one providing and the other growing and maturing, but both always working together to support each other and moving towards the brightest possible future. Now I find our relationship evolving into one of friendship and collaboration, leaving behind a stereotypical hierarchy of prescribed functions. A natural progression? I sure hope so. 

I look back at her childhood and hope that I’ve instilled the positive memories and traditions that she can anchor herself to as she begins her new journey. Have I given her the love, support, and discipline that she needs to do life on her own? And, equally important, have I given her the opportunity and skill to claim life on her own terms and define for herself who she is and who she will become? 

Roots and wings: the eternal parental paradox of parents and children. Love them lavishly to ground them in affection and security and teach them abundantly to ultimately set them free: the hardest job a parent ever holds. 

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