Confession :: I’m A Helicopter Parent [But Only In NOLA]
All of us who live in New Orleans have a love-hate relationship with New Orleans. New Orleans has magic that just doesn’t exist in other places. Our kids will have a very unique experience growing up here: Mardi Gras, music festivals, learning to celebrate life’s wins and losses, and of course the inevitable future foodie snobs. However, I can’t help but feel my kids are losing out on a real childhood.
I don’t let my nine year old go anywhere in the neighborhood by herself. Nine year olds in other towns are riding bikes to the beach by themselves or walking to their friend’s house who live a few blocks over or maybe even over to another town. I just do not feel comfortable allowing that sort of freedom. Every part of me wants that for her, but I know New Orleans and it makes me feel angry I can’t do it. We live in a great Uptown neighborhood with great neighbors, yet our car was stolen from in front of our house just last month. I took the girls to the park one day and as we were driving off, the car in front of us screeched to a halt and someone was stealing a purse from another car and jumped into the car in front of us. As he jumped in, a gun dropped from his pants, he turned around to pick it up and looked right at me. I was scared. It all happened so fast and I was just in shock. They were prowling around a children’s playground. It’s disgusting. I just feel like any one in New Orleans could be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is nowhere “safe.” I’m not at all a pessimist, it’s just that I know the realities of the city. I’m constantly battling with myself if I’m overreacting and being too protective or if every NOLA parent feels this way.
I don’t consider myself a helicopter parent at all, but compared to my own parents and the current parents in suburbia, I sure do feel like one. Growing up in New Orleans in the 90’s wasn’t much safer. In fact, the murder and theft rate peaked in the mid 90’s. But, I was still out walking the dog around the neighborhood by myself or walking to Camellia Grill with a friend when I was nine. Both of my parents grew up in New Jersey suburbia. They weren’t as well versed with New Orleans crime. I had a lot more freedom at a younger age. I was naive as a child, but I certainly have memories of times where it could have turned really badly, but I got lucky.
Because of my parents’ Northern roots, I spent many summers on the Jersey Shore. I continue the tradition with my own family and take my girls to the shore every summer since they were born. I feel lucky that we get to experience a place with higher levels of efficiency, safety, and kid friendly towns. We get to taste a little bit of what it would be like to be parents in a suburb. Cars stop the moment a pedestrian looks as though they are going to cross the street, neighborhood kids all gather to walk or bike to the beach together, and it just feels easy to allow independence. One of my girls favorite memories from last summer was when all the kids on the beach near us gathered to make necklaces to sell. The group of about ten kids took their profits, walked across the street, bought popsicles, and returned to the beach. The group of kids ranged from four to twelve. I love allowing my kids that feeling of autonomy and I let them have it as much as possible when we are in Jersey. But, in New Orleans I’m the strict parent who struggles to let them go anywhere alone and constantly looking to make sure they get in the door. I despise having to be an overprotective parent in NOLA.
I understand that bad things can happen anywhere, but I do think that New Orleans fails its children the most. As summer comes to a close, I begin to wonder if New Orleans makes sense for us as a family. We begin the school year and suddenly it’s the holidays and things seem joyful and the weather is usually excellent in December. Then it’s Mardi Gras and by then, it’s definitely easy to forget the insanities we endured the past year. Then, it’s summer again and I question everything all over again. A never ending cycle of wondering if we should move.
Signed,
A truly confused New Orleanian
P.S. I hate you.
P.P.P.S. I….Ugh. Nevermind.
