I had just nipped into the local supermarket after collecting my son from nursery. I needed a few ingredients I was missing from making our dinner that night. Whilst deciding which bunch of parsley looked the freshest, I heard my son’s sweet voice say “I just want to see something”. I looked down to see what he what he was looking at. It was literally seconds but he was gone. I looked left, and then right, then looked around the whole fruit and vegetables sections. Then down to the end on the right in the bakery section, he loved choosing desserts. Then I ran out of the supermarket into the car park, maybe he thought his dad was coming. I felt my head and body turn in a spin. I didn’t know where to look. There were so many possible places but only one me, which one to prioritise, trying hard not to make the wrong decision. I ran up to anyone who was close by, asking them if they’d seen my son. No one did. I ran up the an employee, starting to feel the panic, I was becoming breathless. I was told to speak to the supervisor who was pointed out to me. I approached him as he was talking to someone, I had to interrupt and ask him to help. He told me it was not policy to make announcements over the tannoy. Just as we were about to talk about what to do next, my son walked up to us calm and unphased. I couldn't believe my eyes. I had mixed emotions, absolutely over the moon to see him safe and sound but livid at how he could put me through that. I questioned him, and questioned him hard. I made the rules and limits absolutely clear. He was clearly upset and couldn't understand why I was making a big fuss. But I wasn't having any of it. I decided I would tighten my grip on him, I wouldn't let him out of my sight again! The next day we walked home from nursery, we always held hands. But just as we were nearing the house, my son asked me if he could walk ahead. I reluctantly agreed but thought he is in plain sight, so nothing could happen. Just as he was reaching the end of the path where we must cross the road to reach the front of our house, I noticed his feet. They were two steps beyond the yellow line painted on the road. I was mortified. Since he first began walking, he knew that he should never cross this yellow line because he was dangerous. And yet here he was, in full view, with complete consciousness and awareness, he had stepped over the line. I took him by the hand, ready to give him a huge telling off. But as he turned to face me, I saw a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. One of complete confidence and determination. My son was growing up. I realised that from that moment on, I couldn’t limit him like I did before when he was a baby. I had to learn to let go. I had to trust him, not just in a meaningless word like way, I mean really really trust him and show him that I did. I seized the next opportunity that came along, as we walked home from nursery the next day, I let his hand go. “You carry on to the end of the path. Stop before the yellow line, look both ways. If there are no cars, you can cross the road.” He nodded his head with understanding. And off he went. I hurried behind him quietly, and looked both ways up the road for any oncoming danger but there was none. I stood behind him as he looked both ways and crossed the road safely. I must admit I was so proud of him, I trusted him and he proved he could be trusted. Soon his nursery days came to an end, but his fellow class mates would play in the play park in front of our house. As soon as my son would hear their voices from the house calling out his name, he would immediately ask to go join them. I couldn’t join him every time otherwise I would be out in the park all day with no time for housework or cooking or just simply a rest. So I decided this was another chance to show him I trusted him. I would watch him look both ways before crossing the road and join his friends with their parents in the play park. I would stand at my front door watching him, then I would nip to the kettle to make a cuppa, rushing back to see if he was still there, and he always was. Then I would catch up on some work perched at the living room window, keeping an ever watchful eye on him every few seconds, and finally I was able to work at my desk in my bedroom keeping the windows open just to hear his little voice whilst he played away to his hearts content. It soon dawned on me that my entire childhood was spent outside, riding bikes in the streets, knocking at neighbour children’s doors, going down to the local shops without ever having my dad supervising me and my siblings constantly. So why was I policing my son so much? Had I become a victim of media sensationalisation? Was I letting my anxieties and fears kill my sons childhood freedoms that I in fact enjoyed myself? Enough was enough. The benefits of letting my son play unaided were phenomenal. He learnt many social and emotional skills like how to make friends with children outside of nursery, he learnt to negotiate turns without the aid of an authority figure, he even learnt to cope with disagreements by himself, even with much older kids. But the physical benefits were quick to be realised too, the monkey bars, the fire mans pole, the rope – all the parts of the playground I had seen him struggle with previously, he seemed to fight through the struggle on his own to master them with ease. And do you know why that was? Because mummy wasn’t there to ‘help’ when in fact, I wasn’t helping, I was hindering. I’m glad my little man demanded his freedom and his right to be trusted. Because without him taking a stand to push the limits, I probably would’ve carried on keeping him in my protective bubble. In a matter of weeks, this tiny little baby who has always had a very strong personality, had developed and evolved into this big boy, who takes quite an offense at being called a baby, or little or young for that matter! It seems that letting go was much harder for me then it was for my son, but at least I proved that I could trust him and likewise he proved he could be trusted. By Shabana Diouri,