Honoring the Sideline

There I sat on a lounger as the warm summer sun shone down on me. Around me, other moms chose between splashing in the water with their kids or relaxing with their latest book. But I was somewhere in the middle—lounging, yes—but with my eyes fixed on the pool.

My boys are now at ages and abilities where swimming has become more of a hands-off activity for me as a parent. Still, I feel the need to keep a watchful eye on them—to ensure they’re safe and respectful of others—while also jumping in the pool now and then to share in the fun.

The other day, I found myself watching Dawson from a distance, feeling a little uneasy as he hovered near a group of older kids volleying a volleyball back and forth. He stood nearby, waiting for a moment to retrieve the ball if it slipped out of bounds, eager to be helpful. The older kids were somewhere between annoyed and oblivious to him—fully immersed in their game.

I felt the urge to get up and remind Dawson about personal space and social norms. But then I paused. What would really be gained by doing that? Would it improve the moment for anyone involved? Was anyone actually being harmed?

No. He wasn’t being disruptive. In fact, he was trying to be helpful. And whether they liked it or not, they were coexisting in that moment.

So, I honored the sideline.

Later, Dawson had made his way to the deeper part of the pool and began playing on his own. He tossed his diving wand and swam down to retrieve it again and again. All around him, children his age swam and played. At times, he brushed shoulders with them or had a quick interaction before they returned to whatever they were doing. Sometimes he mirrored them—a boy showed off a handstand, and Dawson followed by doing one too. The boys acknowledged him, and the moment passed.

Other times, he dove in front of someone walking by, seemingly unaware that he was sharing the space. I caught myself wanting to intervene—maybe guide him on starting a conversation or remind him to be more aware of others in the pool.

But again, I paused. No one was being hurt. Dawson was content with his brief interactions and fully immersed in his own activity. The other swimmers, in turn, adjusted and moved around him.

So, I honored the sideline.

As the day went on, there were more of these moments—small instances that tugged at my instinct to create social comfort for everyone. Of course, there were times I stepped in—like during the inevitable sibling scuffles with his brother, where both were equally at fault. (Ah, sibling love.)

But the truth is, Dawson will never gain full independence if I constantly step in from the sideline to manage every social situation. He needs to live through them. Sometimes he’ll misstep, and that’s okay. I’ll be there afterward to help him reflect, learn, and grow.

I also took time to reflect on what my role as his mom looks like at this stage of life. As he grows and gains more independence, I have to take my place on the sideline—watching him use everything his dad, I, and his team have taught him. The sideline isn’t easy. It means trusting that your child can stumble and still be okay—and that others will meet them with grace, even when you’re not there to smooth the way.

When I see him navigate awkward social moments, I have to also remember that he’s allowed to exist as his most authentic self. And others can—and should—learn to coexist with and accept his unique way of being. If I constantly step in to “fix” those moments, neither of those things can happen.

So I’m choosing to honor the sideline. Always on his team—cheering, loving, and supporting him—just from a little distance.