I got into a discussion with an acquaintance concerning protection. No, we weren't discussing birth control, at least not directly. We were talking about a parent's role. She contends that a mother's job is to protect her child. She believes it so firmly that her child is rarely, if ever, allowed to make any decisions by herself and she does not trust her child at places other than her own house. I don't think that she really even trusts her husband with her child although she apparently recognizes that her marriage occasionally requires her to pretend she does. Her daughter, however, is not a toddler; her daughter is a young teen.

She seemed surprised that I did not play "I protect my daughter better than yours." I did not even accept the underlying assumption. My central assumption generally has been that it is a parents' job to teach a child to protect himself or herself. I have always assumed that this world is not really safe and that I cannot guarantee that I will be around forever. There have been too many sudden deaths in my life for me to assume that a system of protection that relies solely or even predominantly on me, is a system worthy of any trust. No, the system has to rely on developing skill and knowledge and, unfortunately, learning is not possible in a risk-free atmosphere.

My move toward protection always has been to encourage competence in my children. When they were younger, we played "what if" games modeled in part after the children's book "What Do You Say, Dear?" What if you were lost in a store and could not find your mother? (You go up to a cashier and tell her you are lost. You give her your name and your mother's name.) What if you came to a swing set and elephants were swinging in all the swings? (You wait your turn in a safe place.) As they grew older, I had them certify in first aid and CPR. We did family fire drills. As they grew even older, I shifted more from authority to coach. The question "how do you plan to handle this situation?" came before telling them what to do (and often made the telling unnecessary.)

The acquaintance commented that I was "permissive" by which I suspect she meant "neglectful." I explained that I believed in rules but I believed in progressively loosening rules. I would never give a three year old a sharp knife, for example, even under supervision. I would, and have, given a six year old a sharp knife under supervision and helped her cut carrots. I would, and have, allowed a thirteen year old to bake while I am not even in the kitchen. I have let my fifteen year old bake while I was out running a brief errand.

I knew I would never convince her but it was a day when I just couldn't help pushing her thinking a little. What would have happened to the little six year old in New Orleans who, along with five younger children, was separated from his mother but lead the kids to safety if he had believed that, without his mother, there was insurmountable danger? But she could not go there. A really vigilant mother would never get separated.

Later today, I am giving a ride to a friend of Day's who recently lost her mother. Her mother was a lovely, caring, and competent woman�and so is her daughter. She misses her mother terribly but she knows she can survive.

Whether we like it or not, the real job of a parent is to make herself obsolete. I want to be wanted, not needed. I'm okay with being dispensable. If I am, I have done my job.

I want to be dispensable because, ultimately, that's the very best protection my children can have in this world.

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