(Hopefully not) thin ice

(Before anyone (mom:) hyperventilates: that is a puddle on top of the frozen pond, not a watery patch....)

Those icy acoustics called us back across the park to the frozen pond. We met P's pals there and played tag, climbed trees and then listened to the rocks echo and skid over the ice. The warmer winter day had been a hiccup, replaced with air that was strikingly cold. Much too soon and to my dismay, P missed the muddy bank and plunked through the icy edge up to his knee. His galoshes (at home on the radiator) were still wet from the (much warmer) day before, leaving his wooly boot a frosty soaker. Needless to say, he had no interest in returning home. Especially once his buddies migrated onto the ice.

Suddenly, a childhood story of woe floated just outside my reach, washing fear of pond ice my way (I'm typically classified as being too laissez-faire in the child/adventure category, and it was strange to be on the high alert end of the spectrum this time.) I noticed that the other adults seemed completely mellow with the activity, and the chunks of ice that they pulled out were a couple of inches thick... P sensed my apprehension but slid out to scoot around with his buddies and their folks. What was worrying me? What was that memory? After all, the icy water below wasn't that deep right there and it all seemed solid....

So, aside from my inner conflict, the afternoon was beautiful. P had a blast. But the protect vs respect issue has been gnawing at me ever since my fingers finally stopped stinging, post playdate. And that subject is only going to get more slippery as time passes. What about when he wants to ride a motorcycle... without a helmet? Or any of the other million things that are fabulously fun and equally dangerous in this world? Growing up, I really felt no fear (well, there was the dark, my parents, the supernatural, and snakes, but that's different ;) I wasn't scared of bike tricks, riding my motorcycle, public speaking, crazy heights, hitching or being lost, alone, in a foreign city or the woods. I even remember my daredevil little brother trying to talk some sense into me occasionally. So, I distinctly remember the first time this carefree pattern changed and I was scared. And I was doing something I had done (fearlessly, enjoyably) before. But this time, Ethan was there (love changes everything, right?) And it suddenly hit me that he could die, that I could die, that we could die. I remember that moment of mortality smacking me in the face. I was 19 (I've mentioned I'm slow, no?). P's already had that moment. He had it when he was 3. So I'm hell bent on keeping my mouth shut and preserving as much fear free fun for him as possible. Sigh. Hopefully, that doesn't leave us skating on thin ice.