Helicopter Parenting

“How did your first day of summer go?” my friend Heather texted me this afternoon.

I responded, coolly.

“It was fine.”

“Except for the part when Charlie took off to the Chevron on his bike without me knowing and shoplifted four helicopter toys.”

For real. Insert screaming and rending of clothing here.

Oh my stars, people. $24.00 dollars in stupid plastic helicopters with crummy candy stashed in the bottom, unabashedly lifted from the gas station by my seven-year-old.

Aaaaaaand, now it’s Summer.

Summer + Charlie = hell’s bells.

Summer + Charlie – Mom’s brain cells.

Summer + Autism (Are you kidding me?)

(Some of these math problems may not be complete. I know this. What I don’t know is how to make them complete. I’m an English major, yes? The maths are not my forte.)

When I drove the three blocks down the hill and found Charlie riding up the hill, he was eager to show me his new helicopters, two clutched in each hand on the handlebars.

He didn’t think he had done anything wrong. He thought I was mean for putting his bike in the back of the van, ordering him into the car, and driving to Chevron to return the dumb helicopters.

When Dutch and I sat Charlie down to talk about not a) running off by himself to b) steal things, he didn’t get what on earth we meant. He wanted to go to the Chevron and get helicopters. End of story.

It wasn’t until we brought up the police who tend to get involved in cases of children wandering off and also in cases of thievery, that Charlie started listening. Cops have gravitas, you know. Parents don’t. We tend to be lame.

School’s out for summa, fair citizens.

Buckle up.

  3 comments for “Helicopter Parenting

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *