I Had Two Minutes to Figure Out If I Was a Snowplow Parent or a Free-Range Mama
A swim test made me wonder: Do I clear all the obstacles in my daughter’s path—or do I give her the freedom to fail?
My feisty 8-year-old daughter never backs down from a challenge, which is both inspiring and terrifying. At a friend’s pool club, she was stopped by a lifeguard for crossing into the deep end. The rule was that kids had to first pass a test, swimming laps and then treading water for two minutes. Gauntlet thrown.
I could see it in her eyes; the deep end was like the VIP section of a club and my child was determined to get behind the velvet rope. Passing the swim test would mean she could roll with the big kids, including my friend’s “cool” daughter, and not be stuck splashing in the shallow end with her little sister. Big picture, it would mean she had graduated from baby dolls and cartoons to Rainbow Loom and those sassy tween shows on Netflix. “Next stop, pierced ears and a cell phone,” I imagined her thinking. There was no getting in between this girl and her swim test.
After years of lessons, I knew swimming laps would not be a problem, and I watched with pride as my girl glided to the wall and back. But she had less experience treading water. Tentatively, I asked if she would like me to join her in the pool. I half expected to be shut down. She’s eight, you know, and my presence is, like, so embarrassing sometimes. But, to my surprise, she said okay.
Raising my daughter, I have always struggled in the gray areas of parenting. Was it more important to hold the limit or be flexible? Should we clean up the Legos every night or let her keep expanding her miniature world, putting creativity ahead of order? Was it wiser to play it safe or climb the tree?
In the case of the swim test, my gut told me not to be the snowplow parent who clears the obstacles in my child’s path. I wanted to be the free-range mama, fostering independence and resilience by letting her make her own mistakes.
The lifeguard sat on the edge of the pool with a stopwatch and gave us the go-ahead to begin treading. Two minutes is strangely subjective. It goes by lightning-fast when Mom says you can only have “two more minutes” at the park. But it feels infinite when you’re flailing your little arms and legs, trying to keep your head above water. My poor kid was struggling from the get-go.
“You can do it, honey,” I cheered as I paddled alongside her, hoping my generic words of encouragement would somehow fortify her. Still, I could see her growing tired and slowing down, losing her buoyancy. Her head tipped back as she tried to keep her mouth and nose above the water, yet she kept on treading. I figured she was fighting the good fight, and I wasn’t so worried. At least not until I saw her beautiful hazel-green eyes go wide with fear.
Was that just water on her face or tears?
It must have seemed like I froze, my mother-body failing to react. But my mind was calculating furiously, playing out two scenarios: I could be a snowplow parent — halt the test and pull my daughter from the pool, saving her from exhaustion, panic or worse. But what if I had it wrong? What if the worried look on her face was just determination in disguise and I needed to be a free-range mama? I pictured my spitfire girl furious that I’d wrecked her moment and denied her glory.
In the end, it was the lifeguard who made the call, stopping the clock at a minute twenty and suggesting we try again another day. Or not. My daughter’s eyes flashed fire as she spat out, “Cancel my swimming lessons. I’m never going in a pool again!” Then she sprinted across the lawn, refusing to look at me or talk to me.
Oh, what had I done? Or more accurately, not done. I’d read the situation wrong and should have rescued her when I had the chance. I felt so guilty. A teenage lifeguard was more in tune with my daughter’s needs than I was, apparently.
What kind of mother was I? After eight years in the trenches, I still didn’t know.
I wanted to empower my daughter. Instead, I’d made her feel unsafe and unsupported. My husband reminded me that she wasn’t hurt. She was just scared, and anger is how she often processes big feelings. Give her time, he said.
And lo and behold, the next day, she was back in the pool. She marched over to her swim instructor and asked her to please make the lessons harder. Did I mention she never backs down from a challenge?
I can’t know what the right choice was, or even how I will react next time, but I know this now — I let her fail, and she survived. We are both going to be okay.
So maybe I’ll let her roam free next time too. But I’ll keep the snowplow keys in my pocket. Just in case.
