Junior High Registration... and a lesson in parenting from my younger self

Recently we attended junior high orientation. It was surreal as I sat there with my oldest wondering how we had gone from the first day of Kindergarten to already in junior high school in what felt like a year. Cliche, I know, but it seriously feels like the older my kids get the faster the time flies by.

I'm an overprotective parent, Clint even more so, and I am a bit of a control freak. Okay, maybe a tad more than a bit... These combined in a perfect storm where I sat in the auditorium reading through the packet they'd handed out while Erin sat next to me surrounded by her friends talking about how excited they were and what classes they wanted to take. And then it hit me. A perfect memory of being in sixth grade sitting at my desk, with a pink card stock registration form picking out my electives for the next year. It felt monumental and so exciting. The first time I got to choose anything significant for myself. I remember how grown up I felt and thinking it was really the first independent thing I'd ever done because my parents were nowhere around. It happened during school and they NEVER got a say in what I picked for electives.

I stepped back and observed who had the packet, and who had started analyzing which electives would fit into our family life (who wants to be required to participate in choir concerts that happen outside of school hours for part of your grade when we already have such a crazy life with dance, right?). And I realized that I was stealing from Erin the potential for her own significant childhood memory right then in that moment and if I did she would never have that opportunity again.

I quickly read through the rest of the materials while listening to the counselor's presentation to satisfy my need to know everything, took a deep breath, and handed it to Erin to pick her electives. She may never remember that moment in the same way I remembered my sixth grade moment but at least I was grown-up enough to allow her the opportunity. She picked French for her language because she already knows so much from dance - which surprised me. And she picked that dreaded choir class that will require our commitment to concerts but it is on the bottom of her list of ranked priorities and she may not get it, hopefully.

As much as I want to shelter and protect and make all the decisions with all my experience and knowledge behind me, she will never become the kind of adult she has the potential to be if I do. Growing up is harder on parents than I ever thought it was going to be!