Stumbling toward social awkwardness

Nyah recently told me my husband, Bryan, had said that I have trouble talking to people.  "Is that true?"  she wondered aloud while she regarded me quietly with her brown eyes behind her glasses. I had to tell her that yes, I did have some anxiety about talking to people.  When I confirmed how I felt, she told me suffered from the same issue and I took some comfort knowing that she and I shared such discomfort in social situations.

I've tried to conceal the fact that I'm uncomfortable in social situations outside of my close family....until now.  So here's the truth:  I don't like to answer the door, I will wait to get the mail if there are people nearby, and I don't always talk to people I know.  I often wonder if people think I'm a bitch.  I don't mean to be, I just find myself stumbling toward social awkwardness.

The funny thing is, once I force myself to be in social situations with people outside of my close family, I have fun.  Yet, that fun doesn't stick around in my brain long enough to remind me that it's okay to hang out with people the next time a social situation presents itself.

I started thinking that maybe I needed to see someone or go on meds for this behavior.  That is, until I saw a post on Facebook from my friend, Jack.  She had found the definition of an Introvert and had shared the page.  As I read it, I realized it fit me to a "T" and described everything I had been feeling.  

Turns out, I'm not really stumbling toward social awkwardness.  I'm actually just standing on the outskirts, observing.

Slugbugs and sadness

Nyah and I play that ridiculously silly slugbug game.  You all know what it is--you have to be the first to yell the slugbug and color or else you get a swift punch to the arm from the person that beat you to it.  It's almost a religion with us and Nyah is even considering a slugbug as her first car just so she can wake up every morning, new, and punch me in the arm and yell, "slug bug <insert color here>!"

About two weekends ago, Nyah and I were having a particularly sad day at the barn.  We were saying goodbye to Sasha, a horse I've had for five years.  She was going back to the rescue I got her from.  We spent time bathing her and just letting her graze out in the warm sun until the trailer came to take her up north.

After loading her, she let out a deep, breathy nicker from the side window when I went around for one last goodbye.  It broke my heart and as she drove away, I began to cry.  Nyah followed suit.

We got into our truck and started the drive home.  Just down the road, a slugbug drove by.  Nyah, in a very subdued voice, announced from the backseat of the truck it's presence to which I was completely oblivious.  This time, though, she didn't punch me.

Although I was still crying on the exterior, there was some semblance of a smile inside at our little connection.  A silly game played to the chagrin of my husband helped Nyah and I deal a little bit better with the tinge-y sadness of goodbye.

Helicopter parents

Helicopter parents...I love this term, but I can't take credit for coining it.  I don't love it because I am one; I'm actually the furthest thing from it.  I love it because it's the perfect term to describe this couple we know that constantly hover over their two kids, not letting them experience the real world and sheltering them from everything.

As I write this, I can hear Bryan in my head doing his helicopter impression (chew-chew-chew-chew-chew-chew-chew); something he does whenever we talk about this family, which has been a lot lately.

I grew up fairly independent--riding the city bus for an hour to the barn when I was in 6th grade, playing with my friends all over the neighborhood (my mom used a dinner bell to call us home that could be heard a mile away), doing my rather large paper route on my own in the dark, and spending the night at the barn with my friends.  True, I grew up in Juneau, AK where you could do these things without much worry, but regardless I made it to adulthood.

We've raised Nyah to be smart and independent as well so she can problem solve on her own and deal with life in a mature and straight-forward manner.  We never engaged in baby talk with her, she asked a question about life and got a real answer, and I talked to her about sex and drugs when she was five.  She stopped going to daycare in 5th grade and started to walk to school on her own, which, by the way, is just down the street past the three or four homes of police officers.

Because we haven't babied her or subjected her to "helicopter parentism," she's responsible and pretty mature for her age.  As a 7th grader, she doesn't have to rely on us to drive her to school or knock on a friend's door unexpectedly at seven in the morning to see if she can walk to school with them because we won't let her walk alone for five minutes.  Past several homes of police officers.  And did I mention we live right by a Police Substation?

Don't get me wrong, people have the right to parent however they want.  But, when it extends to our lives and the helicopter parent drops their cargo on us at the last minute, I feel it's my right to be irritated that they don't let their kid grow up and learn to be independent.

It's my opinion (and you know what they say about those) that if you shelter a kid and don't let them experience life, it only hinders them later.  Kids need to learn how to be responsible and stand up for themselves.  Mommy and daddy aren't going to be there forever to bail them out or handle a difficult situation--especially in the workplace.  Note to those that were raised under helicopter parents:  your manager or HR Partner do not want to hear about how you can't get along with so-and-so or you disagree with this or that, but you can't deal with it and you want us to do so.  It's not our responsibility--it's yours.

If you're a helicopter parent and you're reading this, I probably have offended you.  Pause, breath, re-read what I've written and try to let your kid experience life.....or buy a pepper spray keychain with an ear-piercing alarm.