Meredith’s Musings

Panic At The Playground

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

Social situations are my strong suit. I feel comfortable interacting with people. I will not hesitate to start a conversation or extend a greeting beyond a basic exchange. I think well on my feet if the conversation is surface level. Talking to people is easy. I don’t fear mass gatherings or new people or “having to be on,” so to speak. I never thought of this ability as a skill, but over time, I realize not everyone finds socializing so easy. For some, it strikes panic. I was chatting with a colleague, a brilliant academic mind who seems to know all the things I don’t and wish I did. We were chatting about intelligence, and he said he envied my interpersonal intelligence, that I had a way of making people feel comfortable, that I made interaction look easy. This smart person envied my ability to just be me. And I envied his ability to amass loads of information that always seem leagues out of reach. I can always find the answer, but it doesn’t just come to me from the back of my brain. I’ve always rested on my ability to interact, counted on it to get me through life. I may find certain situations hard, but the common occurrence of face-to-face interaction is not one of those scary places. As parents, we are forced to reexamine what we’ve always taken for granted, to consider how our kids are not us and may find parts of life more complicated. Being a parent brings social anxiety, not so much for me, but for my girls.

I love taking the girls to the parks. We hit all of them, multiple times a week. When Wilder was three years old, she would look anxiously out the window. “Look, Mom, there’s kids over there.” She couldn’t wait to hop out of the car and make new friends. She would fiddle with the car seat buckle, rushing the process that can only be completed with my aid. I reminded her that we walk, not run, to the playground and give people their space. I got anxious as we approached the playground equipment. What if the kids don’t want to play with her? What if they’re rude, or worse, what if she’s rude to them? I hadn’t relied on daycare, so her social circle was relatively small. Will she suffer because she doesn’t have social experience with kids her age? Have I done enough to prepare her for disappointment? Will someone unknowingly break her little heart?

Wilder’s inclination is to dive into someone’s lap and demand they play with her. On our last trip to Kiroli Park, Husband and I were sitting on the bench when two kids walked up with their parents. Wilder immediately ran up to them. “Hi, my name is Wilder. And this is my sister Fable. And that is my mom and my dad.” She then proceeded to list the name and relation of every person she knew before asking the new kids’ names. It was the cutest exchange, and the other parents seemed surprised at how forthcoming Wilder was with information. She has this dominating presence about her, but still relies on polite language where she doesn’t come across as in charge as she feels. It’s the same version of the little girl we get at home but seeing her interact with strangers is a new experience. I feel nervous for her. I want the other kids to take to her and welcome her in. I feel protective in a way that surprises me.

Husband and I watch her sliding up and down the playground equipment, squealing with joy as the new kids trail along behind her. She is a born leader, and most of the kids seem content following her lead. She decides where they go next, which slide to tackle or which tunnel to traverse. Wilder is always in front, frequently turning around and motioning to “come on, guys.” As she was starting Pre-K that fall, watching her in her element around other kids made me feel better about her next chapter, one in which I would be predominantly absent. I love that she craves the comfort of other people, that she strives to include everyone, even though I know she will inevitably clash with another leader. I want these experiences for her, but I’m glad I won’t be around to suffer through them. I know the absurdity of my fear, but also that it must be common. Kids must find their way, and I’m a firm believer in that happening naturally with me out of the way. I started physically distancing myself from her playtime with kids at the park. I kept her in sight but stayed out of earshot. I resisted the inclination to save her from awkward interactions, to let her experience disappointment, to let her feelings get hurt. It’s the right course of action, but man was it hard to do. The idea of someone hurting my little love just breaks me, but I guess this was part of raising a child, letting her fly on her own, across one playground at a time.