Don’t Look at Them

Children want us near them. We, when we are near them, are “watching over them”—we want to be close to them, look at them, protect them from every trouble, guide them, enrich them, direct them, and also enjoy them.

That is quite a lot of agenda for the presence of two parents, sometimes around a single child, isn’t it?

Even if we assume that we achieve all of these goals perfectly, what do we lose when we behave this way? And from what motives are we acting?

A week ago, one of my daughters was playing beside me on the floor while I was cooking, organizing the complicated day ahead of us, answering phone calls, and so on and so on. She wanted me to “help” her assemble a new puzzle we had bought together. One thing led to another, and our shared play kept being postponed, and postponed.

In the meantime, she and her younger sister played with the puzzle and turned it into a magnificent three-dimensional structure! An actual tower, with turrets, entrances, and tunnels. They played quietly, with concentration, cooperation, and joyful engagement.

As I went about my own tasks, I noticed the silence (a well-known parental warning sign) and immediately came to see what was going on. Then I examined with them the structure they had created.

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Later I thought: what would have happened had I come to “help” her, or even simply sat beside her while she was assembling it? Is it not almost certain that I would have guided her—even unknowingly—to assemble the puzzle in the way it was intended to be assembled (intended???).

Perhaps I would have refrained from teaching her to start with the frame using clues such as corners, straight edges, and so on—as adults assemble puzzles.

Perhaps I would have allowed her to choose her own way and assemble it according to colors and clues from details and faces—as children often do.

But would I have been able to free myself from my habits and conditioning to such an extent that I would have allowed her, within her protected world, to create a three-dimensional structure from a puzzle?

I think not.

Even I.

There is no doubt that just as children need our close presence, sometimes they truly need our quiet, implied presence—but in the background. So that they know we are within calling distance, within sight, earshot, and heart, but not “supervising” them.

They need their protected bubble—a bubble protected from us as well.

A space that allows them to find their own voice and uniqueness.

The traditions, culture, and accepted ways of doing things they will absorb, draw in, and aspire to in any case.

Protected and secure quiet is much harder—and much rarer—to obtain.

A certain amount of information about the degree to which our influence becomes interference in their play can be gleaned from a child’s reaction when we observe them while they are deeply absorbed in a creative activity of their own—singing, drawing, storytelling, dancing, and so forth.

If the child reacts to our appearance and presence—even a quiet presence—with some degree of rejection, such as “Stop, don’t look at me,” or even “Go away,” or if they change their behavior and begin to perform for us or become self-conscious, it is a sign that somewhere along the way we have created in them the feeling that we intervene too much, influence and direct too much, or at the very least are too involved or become emotionally engaged with an intensity that disturbs them within the bubble of their creativity.

This is a kind of touchstone for the amount of freedom we allow.

If a child withdraws from us, even subtly and indirectly, it is worth learning from that and occupying ourselves with our own affairs alongside them.

Then the gain is doubled.

We develop our own interests.

The child learns from us as role models (even if it seems they are not paying attention to anything at all).

And we—the parent-child pair—enjoy a shared hour of creation side by side, rewarding and fulfilling.

And why, in fact, do we ourselves need to supervise in such a close and constant way?

If we examine this honestly, we will see that it is not really about their security or safety—it is about our motives.

Is it fear, which is often a poor advisor?

A concern that they will not follow our path, that we will not leave our mark on the world through them?

That they will “amount to nothing”?

Or perhaps a desire for control and a difficulty accepting the true parental role: creating life, supporting it, and ultimately letting it go?

Let us follow, in our imagination, the frightening scenario of behaving in a way that allows and expands possibilities for our children, and see what the worst possible outcomes might be.

I think we will all feel that there is no danger in it.

On the contrary—there is freedom, growth, and joy.

There is so much we can learn from it—about our children, about ourselves, about life.

So let us leave them be a little.

In the sense of letting them rest.

Let us allow them to develop, grow, and flourish in their own way.

And then we will draw immense pleasure and pride from them.

There is no greater badge of honor for parents than seeing their children fulfilled and happy—each in their own unique way, which may be very different from ours.

Or perhaps not.

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See you,

Lilach