Broken Helicopter

By Paige Alam

There are moments in life you really cannot even speak about out loud until the period of time is safely behind you.

When our oldest daughter made the transition to middle school, let’s just say I was slightly neurotic in my desire to protect her. Layne had worked so hard in school due to some challenges she faces with mild cerebral palsy. If you set a bar for her, she will invariably go over it, but it may take a little longer. Her way of soaking in information and learning cannot and should not be rushed, pushed, cajoled, or forced.

Although I can rush through things, I believe God gave me this child so I would slow down and see the beauty of life as it unfolds. When I think of Layne’s progress, memories rush in of every hour we read together, and the hundreds of physical and occupational therapy sessions we attended. Like all of God’s children, she is a masterpiece and is the result of every single ounce of love, energy, and time poured into her.

As her workload increased at her new school, I worked even harder to make everything smoother, often times trying to control areas such as writing and grades—areas that did not belong to me. After teachers, friends, and even my husband pointed this out, I finally realized my efforts were not helping, but actually hurting the situation. Sometimes you need a brutally honest friend to hammer the message home.

During the pinnacle of this struggle, one of my closest friends wrapped up a special gift for me. It was a small remote control helicopter. The note accompanying it read, “This helicopter no longer works for a reason. The blades are broken, and it is not meant to hover any longer. Just like you are not meant to helicopter over your daughter anymore.”

Helicopter parenting is defined as a style of parenting in which the mother or father is too involved in the child’s life. That convicted me because while one parent might be overprotective as it relates to friends or activities, I was overbearing in trying to rule over homework. Real friends can say painful truths that need to be heard, especially when the desire is to help us grow, no matter how much it hurts.

As my daughter continues to advance through her middle school experience on her very own, I can see and feel God’s sweet grace over this beautiful journey. Our daughter has excelled, and I have worked hard to let her own her successes and failures.

The process is constant, but all part of the utterly humbling and lavish gift of parenting. In letting go, we allow others to truly grow. This might be a lifelong challenge, but I pray putting this stage in the light may help release all of my life to God.

“Before a downfall the heart is haughty, but humility comes before honor.” Proverbs 18:12, NIV

A version of this piece was first published in the West Austin News.

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