Let [your children] go

Something insightful happened while I was traveling back to Kuala Lumpur airport from Melaka last Thursday. It was the taxi ride. The taxi driver, Din, is probably in his late 50s and speaks good English. The moment I got in the cab, he started telling me about the great things you can do and see in Melaka. I told him I was actually there for work and that I wasn't able to do much exploring but I hope to come back for a leisure trip. But it wasn't only Melaka's rich culture that Din shared with me during the two-hour ride.

We talked about a number of things -- food, traffic, weather, work, to name a few. He also asked if I have a family. I told him that I have two kids -- a five-year old boy who may start primary school this year and a little girl who is celebrating her second birthday the following day. Din told me that he has eight kids. He had four children with his first wife and then she died. He remarried and had four more children.

I tried to picture myself with eight children but couldn't go beyond the two I have right now. Eight is just too much -- and it isn't just about financial needs. The idea of raising eight human beings is far more terrifying than any horror movie I've watched. But Din seems to have done well. His youngest is now 14 and goes to a boarding school in Melaka. The next youngest, a college student in another city while the rest of his children are currently based in UK and USA. 

I was surprised to learn that out of all the eight children he has, no one is physically with him now – at least every day. In the course of our discussion, he said that “at some point, you have to let [your children] go.” I think I still I have enough time to prepare myself for when either Lorenz or Anela tells Lore and me that they want to study elsewhere or move to another city for work. Of course, this will mean not seeing them every day -- maybe weeks, months, or even a year. It will mean not talking to them regularly because they probably have other things to do or peers they’d rather talk to.

This will happen in the far distant future and I’m not sure how it will change me. But I want to believe I’ll be okay with it – that I’ll be the type of parent who understands his children are grown ups who don’t need him the way they used to. It means that my wife and I have done our job. But for now, I’m just glad I still see their faces light up whenever I come home from work.

How things were. I grew up in a sheltered family probably because I am an only child. I was a straight-A student. I neither got into serious fights with other kids nor caused big trouble for my parents. I know some household chores; though on the downside, not doing them works better for me. (Kids, do not emulate your father on this note!) I am immensely grateful for what my family, especially my mother, has done for me – and not just for me, but over time, for the family I have built. But I think growing up in such a sheltered environment has impacted me in ways that I am only beginning to understand now that I am also a parent trying to make sense of how to raise good children.

Five years ago, I was always scared of being away from my family, which was an irony because I've always wanted a job that entails traveling. My fear was that some harm may either come to me or to my family while I was away. I could die from a plane crash or some weird accident and then my family will be left with nothing. I did not want to think that way but it was how my mind worked back then. 

I don’t exactly know how or when I changed. Perhaps I eventually got used to leaving home because work continuously required it. Maybe I became too busy to entertain the fears that used to consume me. Or could be that I simply became more mature about life. Whatever the cause, I am happy not being that person anymore.  

How things are. When I look back and psycho-analyze, I think the fear is deep-rooted and hit close to home (literally). I realize that the home I had (and still have) is too comfortable. To some extent, I think my parents tried to make me more independent yet they also wanted to make sure I was always okay. What I mean is, they were so good at doing what they do that they have hard-wired something in my head assuring me that if I fall, they will be there to pick me up. I have come to get used to it. So much so that when I had a kid at 23, I returned home to them when I was almost practically living in another town (just 10 km away though) since I was 18.

Six years, a wife and two kids later, I still live with my parents. I help out in the house of course but (almost) everything my family needs is at our disposal -- food cooked and prepared for us, roof over our heads, plus extra helping hands whenever we need someone to watch over the kids. It’s all good but as time passes, I’m not sure it is the best.

Slowly, I am starting to understand why I was afraid to leave home (even before I had a family of my own). It’s because I did not want to let go of what is comfortable, of what is familiar. The home was just too homey it makes me not want to leave. But reality is, often, you need to let go because that’s how you learn to stand on your own feet. Now that I have children of my own, letting go has become even more important.

How I hope things will be. I don't know if there is an effective learning approach to teach independence. But if there is a module, I want to read it. I don’t want my kids to be scared of leaving home and being away from us -- the way it happened to me. I got over it but sometimes I wonder what I missed out or what will change if I hadn't been so afraid back then.

A colleague of mine has an eight year old son who will be attending boarding school this coming school year. This means they will only be together during the holidays. I was amazed at how such a young kid can already be so independent. I was even more surprised to learn that the boy started going to a semi-boarding school when he was only six! My colleague had a brief explanation: “I’m his mother.” Her response was just so spot-on. Now I truly believe that parents, to some extent, can shape how their children see the world and how they eventually fit in it. (Of course, there’s always that whole nature vs. nurture thing but I do not want to argue about it now.)

I've always told my wife that I want our children to be better than us. I want them to grow up knowing that the world stretches far beyond the four corners of our home. I want them to think that the world is not as big as it seems and that it is just waiting to be explored -- eager to feed their minds with wonderful experiences. These experiences may either be shared with us or something that they created for themselves. I will assure them that Mom and Dad will always be glad to listen to their stories be it face-to-face, via phone call, Skype, or whatever they use to communicate.

I want them to know that sometimes it's okay to not be okay because it's how we learn. I want them to veer away from home knowing that they can and will find their way back. I want them to let go of what is familiar and comfortable so they may discover their own weaknesses, and in time, find their strengths as well. I get what Din meant when he said “at some point, you have to let [your children] go.” But I think, for this to happen, we as parents should also teach our children that it’s okay to let us go.