My family and I recently vacationed at Atlantis resort, a curious mix of the Caribbean, Disney-esque sights and Las Vegas vibes. One day, we slipped away from the crowds and relaxed on the beach. My husband and children slathered themselves with oil and turned their chairs for prime UVA/UVB exposure. I faced the ocean, contentedly hooked up to an intravenous machine that doled out SPF100 at five-minute intervals. Suddenly, I noticed an odd sight in the distance. Something was swimming parallel to the beach way beyond the safety markers.
A dolphin?
A whale?
The Creature from The Black Lagoon?
None of the above.
It was a swimmer.
Several lifeguards convened at the water’s edge, pointing at this would-be English Channel crosser. One lifeguard blew his whistle, but the swimmer was too far out to hear. After more discussion, the lifeguards shrugged their shoulders and returned to their elevated chairs. This inaction shocked me, and I spoke with the nearest lifeguard. “The currents are mild today,” he said. “So the man didn’t get dragged out.” When I reminded him that yesterday– at that same beach—a six-foot bull shark cruised by in shallow water, the lifeguard said, “Sure. There’s a lot of sharks. But that guy chose to swim out there, so we stay on the beach.”
“Unbelievable!” I said when I returned to my chair. “That man is so far from shore and the lifeguards aren’t doing anything!” A slight wind kicked up, and the man appeared to sink beneath a wave. “He’s gone!” I said with a gasp. “The man is gone! Gone!” Then he reappeared and resumed his strong stroke. I breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s alive!” My husband opened one eye and said,
“Unless you plan on conducting your own search and rescue, you might want to give it a rest.”
This was easier said than done. I watched the man until he reached the shore in one piece.
For the remainder of our week in Atlantis, my headshaking, frantic “He’s gone” became a catchphrase for my family.
Me: “Where is the waiter?”
Son: “Mom, he’s gone. Gone, I tell you!
Me: “What happened to my towel?”
Husband: “Honey. So sad. It’s gone. Gone….”
Despite the teasing, images of that lone swimmer stayed with me. The lifeguards’ refusal to become involved when this adult made a poor decision made me think about my own adult kids’ decisions. When our kids become adults, we lose control and they are often reluctant to listen to advice. Of course, many parents of adult children don’t waste time giving advice. They simply rush in to save the day and keep their kids happy and safe in that moment. My personal observation is that adult children rarely appreciate “helicopter parents.” This interference can lead to an unhealthy co-dependency and a permanent “failure to launch.”
And by cleaning up our adult kids’ messes, we eliminate possible learning experiences.
“One can only uphold the teachings of Torah when he has stumbled in them.” Mei Shiloach
So, what are we supposed to do when our adult children make poor choices?
First, we can lay a solid foundation when our kids are young. The Talmud emphasizes the importance of teaching a child to be independent (including, ironically, to swim.) In addition to passing down practical life lessons, we can help young kids understand the importance of careful decision-making. We can encourage them to internalize our values by modeling menschkeit behavior and show resilience when our own poor decisions have negative consequences.
Once kids grow up, they adjust to adulthood, and we need to adjust alongside. The bonds of love remain unchanged, but our expectations — not our standards — must alter. We might not be in control, but we can always listen and give advice when asked. Obviously, a crisis might require an intervention. (If that had been my son swimming that far from shore, I would have honed my shark-whispering skills, highjacked a jet ski and attempted a rescue.) But generally, we should hang back and let our adult child feel the effects of a poor choice. This is a difficult task for a parent, although sometimes, our kids surprise us. Even though they might be paddling furiously underneath the water’s surface, they still keep their heads above water.
I never worked as a lifeguard, and I have not read “Bahamian Lifeguarding 101.” Nevertheless, I remain convinced that at least one of those lifeguards should have brought the swimmer back to shore. After all, saving swimmers is their job. But saving adult children from poor choices is not our job. And no matter how tempting it is to jump in and save the day, sometimes the best thing a parent can do is take a deep breath and stay on the beach.
This article was published in The Jewish Advocate on January 31, 2020.
