Helicopter Parenthood
By J.C. Duffy
The term “helicopter parents” has such a negative connotation. My wife prefers to call herself a hovermom.
Whitney and I live with our Five-year old, Chauncey in a wealthy suburb of Manhattan which shall remain nameless. Until recently Whitney had been having lunch every day with Chauncey in his elementary school’s cafeteria. She’s wasn’t the only parent; on a typical day at least a half dozen parents would join their kindergarteners in the lunchroom.
I don’t know how the trend started, but my wife says she was the first at our elementary school, which shall also remain nameless. One day she noticed that our son had left his smartphone at home, and so of course she had to race over to school. When she arrived at 12 o’clock, to her surprise, the lunch bell rang, so she simply joined Chauncey in the cafeteria. No one said anything, so she made it a daily lunch date.
There are many reasons for parents wanting to interact with their children during the day. Maybe there are family issues to work through. Maybe it’s the child’s birthday. Maybe it’s the parent’s birthday. Maybe it’s SpongeBob SquarePants’s birthday. Maybe helicopters just need to hover.
At lunch, Whitney and Chauncey would pick up their breakfast conversation where they left off before they were so rudely interrupted by the arrival of the school bus. And she brought in farm-to-table lunch fare like ramps and grilled radicchio, inexplicably missing from the cafeteria’s menu.
I would have been there too if I didn’t have to go to work and if the cafeteria served martinis.
This arrangement seemed to be working fine until our town’s Superintendent of Public Schools banned the practice, announcing the new rule in an email to parents. In it, he stated that for educational reasons, students of this age need to learn how to function independently under the supervision of a trained educational professional without parental distraction.
The new rule didn’t sit well with some parents, including my wife. She insisted I accompany her to a Board of Ed meeting to protest their decision.
Once the meeting got underway my wife wasted no time and stood up to speak. “Your new rule hit me like an iron jackboot to the midsection,” she yelled at the Board members seated onstage at the front of the auditorium. “Right in the umbilical cord!”
A Board member replied, “We believe schools exist for children, not parents. We try to encourage students to develop the skills necessary to grow into engaged members of society.”
A mother who agreed with the Board chimed in. “Removing the parents teaches the children social skills. Having a parent in the mix changes the dynamic dramatically, plus, I can’t make it because lunch is at the same time as ‘The Young and the Restless.’”
A father piled on. “Kids have to learn how to deal with other kids on their own.”
“My son already has those skills,” my wife countered. “Just last week the school bully demanded my son’s lunch money and I stayed out of it completely. Chauncey handled the situation himself, writing the boy a personal check from his own account.”
A woman I couldn’t see because she remained seated held a different viewpoint. “My son says lunching with his parents has inspired him to be more assertive because we aren’t afraid to send an entree back to the Lunch Lady or demand a bucket of ice for our wine. He would tell you that himself but I’m breastfeeding him at the moment.”
It went on like that for some time, and finally I started watching Netflix on my phone. My wife got a text from Chauncey saying the babysitter was beginning to bore him, so it was time to leave. In the end they didn’t overturn the ban on parents in the cafeteria.
I thought that was the end of it, but not quite. One day my wife, who is a diminutive woman, tried to enter the lunchroom disguised as a student. She looked like a tarted-up Shirley Temple with a hangover, and was quickly escorted off the premises.
Since then Whitney seems to have accepted reality, reluctantly, although she does send Chauncey gourmet lunches via Uber Eats.
And Chauncey has really blossomed on his own. He’s now Teacher’s Pet. The fact that he sells her his poached salmon and sautéed asparagus at a discount may have something to do with it. He’s also running for Kindergarten Treasurer, and he now pays the school bully with Bitcoin.
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