With the nice weather, I've been taking my son outside to play in the backyard. As I laid out the blanket and slipped my shoes off, I was struck with this question: when did I become afraid of interacting with nature?
I remember running around our yard barefoot as a child, despite my father's constant warnings to wear shoes (as he was a carpenter, there was a greater likelihood of loose nails & screws being found back there). I remember wading through creeks and climbing trees, petting bees and soaking up the rain. Now, I stay inside if it's raining and wear shoes if I'll be walking on grass. It's almost as if I'm afraid of interacting with nature. I'll go outside and observe it, shooting pictures or sitting on a blanket with my son, but heaven forbid I actually touch it.
And I realized that I was hesitant to let my son touch it. Since he loves putting things in his mouth, I wouldn't want him eating grass or a bug or something poisonous.
But then I remembered. I remembered the adventure of wading up a creek I imagined to be the Amazon and I an explorer. I remembered the freedom of climbing our apple trees and feeling invincible. I remembered believing myself to be the lone benefactor of the ants I allowed to crawl over my skin. I want my children to have those and many more experiences. I want them to explore the jungle, unearth treasures, and care for little creatures. I shouldn't keep that from them.
My son stepped on the grass with his bare feet and had the cutest reaction. I would have missed that experience if I had protected him from it.
So what if he tastes a little grass? I ate dirt and lived to tell the tale.
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