Just Let Them Be Kids
When We Were Kids
I remember when being a kid meant getting on your bike and disappearing for the afternoon.
Not literally disappearing, of course. But close.
Growing up in Aurora, Illinois, my friends and I rode our bikes everywhere. To school, to friends' houses, across town, or sometimes just to see where we'd end up.
We'd ride three to five miles just to get to school. And I'm talking elementary school!
Can you imagine that today?
I know kids still ride their bikes to school, but I feel like we've reached a point where the idea of an elementary school kid riding several miles across town without a parent following behind would make some people nervous.
But back then, it was just what we did.
We knew when we needed to leave, figured out which roads to take, and learned the shortcuts. Sometimes we'd take the long way just because we could. Nobody was standing over our shoulder telling us which direction to turn.
We just went.
And after school? We'd be gone for hours.
We'd meet up with friends, ride around town, explore neighborhoods we'd never been through, and discover little places that felt like they belonged to us, even though they'd probably been there for decades.
Sometimes we got lost. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose. But that was part of the fun.
And eventually, the sun would start going down.
That was our signal to head home.
We didn't need a notification on our phones or someone reminding us what time it was. Once it started getting dark, we knew it was time to start making our way back.
Because let's be honest, nobody wanted to be the last kid riding home alone in the dark.
Especially if you were still a few miles away!
Looking back, I think that's something I took for granted.
The freedom to just be a kid.
The Childhood I Wanted for My Boys
I've always wanted Bennett and Hudson to experience some of that same freedom.
Not necessarily the exact childhood I had. Times change, the world changes, and I certainly made my fair share of questionable decisions growing up.
But there's something about having the freedom to explore, make decisions, get a little lost, and figure things out that I think is incredibly valuable.
I want my boys to try new things. Sports, activities, whatever interests them. But I've never wanted their entire childhood scheduled from the moment school ends until bedtime.
I know families who spend nearly every evening and weekend running between practices, games, tournaments, and activities. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's just never been what I wanted every day of our lives to look like.
I want my boys to have time that belongs to them.
Time to be bored. Time to call a friend. Time to get on a bike and go somewhere without having a particular destination in mind.
Because some of my favorite childhood memories came from afternoons when absolutely nothing was planned.
And lately, I've been watching something pretty cool happen.
Bennett is starting to experience exactly that.
Coming Back to Elk River
When I made the decision to move back to Elk River from Maple Grove, there were a lot of reasons behind it. But one of the biggest was Bennett and Hudson.
Both boys were born and raised in Elk River. It's where they grew up, where they go to school, and where their friends are.
Even during the few years I lived in Maple Grove, Elk River remained home for them. Their mom was here, their school was here, and their friends were here.
But when they were staying with me in Maple Grove, they were farther away from all of that.
And while Maple Grove wasn't terribly far away, it was far enough that getting together with friends usually required some coordination. Someone needed a ride. Someone needed to make plans. Dad needed to drive somewhere.
It wasn't necessarily a big deal, but it wasn't the same as being able to walk out the front door and go.
Now that we're back in Elk River, something has changed.
Bennett gets home from school, and sometimes I feel like he barely has his backpack off before he's ready to grab his bike. He's texting friends, figuring out who's available, and making plans.
Before I know it, he's ready to head out the door.
And I absolutely love it.
Sure, homework comes first. School responsibilities matter. Things around the house still need to get done.
But once those things are taken care of?
Go.
Go ride your bike. Go meet your friends. Go explore. Go take that ten-mile bike ride and get a little lost.
Although, let's be serious.
You've got a thousand-dollar GPS sitting in your pocket.
Can kids even get lost anymore?
And watching Bennett enjoy this newfound independence has been one of those little reminders that moving back to Elk River was the right decision.
I wanted my home to be part of the boys' everyday lives, not somewhere they had to put their normal routines on hold. I wanted them to be close to their friends, their school, and the community they've always known.
And now I'm watching that happen.
It's such a simple thing, really. A kid getting on his bike and going to meet his friends.
But to me, it means a lot.
A Little Something Called Street Smarts
That's actually something I've been thinking about.
When I was growing up, we didn't have smartphones. There was no little blue dot showing us exactly where we were or a voice telling us to turn left in 500 feet.
If we took a wrong turn, we had to figure it out.
We remembered street names, paid attention to landmarks, and learned how neighborhoods connected. We knew which roads would get us home faster and which shortcuts were worth taking.
And somewhere along the way, we developed something I've always called street smarts.
Knowing which neighborhoods were okay to explore and which ones were probably better to avoid. Being aware of the people around you. Recognizing when someone might be following you or when a situation just didn't feel right.
Knowing when to trust your gut, turn around, or get the hell out of somewhere.
Those weren't things we necessarily learned sitting in a classroom. We learned them by being out in the world, paying attention, making decisions, and occasionally making mistakes.
And I think there's something incredibly valuable about that.
I want Bennett and Hudson to develop those same street smarts. Not because I want them putting themselves in dangerous situations, but because I want them to recognize danger before they find themselves in one.
I want them to be confident enough to explore, but smart enough to know when something isn't safe.
There's a balance there.
Technology has made navigating the world so much easier, and believe me, I'm not complaining. I'm probably the last person who should be criticizing smartphones.
But a GPS can only tell you where you are.
It can't always tell you whether you should be there.
And I think that's an important difference.
Knowing where you are isn't necessarily the same as knowing how to find your way.
And that brings me to a tunnel.
Dad, Look What We Found
A little while ago, Bennett was out riding bikes with some friends. Just a normal afternoon, nothing particularly planned.
At some point, they came across this tunnel that runs underneath Highway 169.
It's a long concrete drainage tunnel connecting two ponds, presumably designed to help manage water during heavy rain and prevent flooding.
Not exactly your typical tourist attraction.
But to a group of kids out exploring? It was pretty cool.
Graffiti covered the walls. The tunnel stretched far enough into the darkness that you couldn't immediately see everything on the other side. There was even a slight curve to it.
The kind of place that, if you were standing there alone at night, might make you wonder whether Pennywise was waiting around the corner.
Yeah. That kind of tunnel.
And Bennett did something that made me smile.
He started sending me pictures and videos, showing me what they'd discovered and where they were exploring.
And I was genuinely excited.
Not because I particularly wanted my son wandering through a drainage tunnel. We'll get to that part.
But because he wanted to share it with me.
He was out having an adventure with his friends, discovering something on his own, and he thought to include Dad.
I loved that.
And honestly, I was proud of him.
Because I recognized something in those pictures.
That was me at his age.
Not necessarily exploring that exact tunnel, but riding bikes, finding places, going somewhere simply because we'd never been there before.
Being curious. Being a kid.
And suddenly, I was remembering a part of my childhood that I hadn't thought about in a long time.
It was also another reminder of why I wanted to move back to Elk River.
Here was Bennett, out on his bike with his friends, exploring and making memories. Doing exactly what I had hoped he'd be able to do.
It wasn't some huge milestone. Nobody handed him an award. There wasn't a ceremony.
It was just a kid sending his dad pictures of a tunnel.
But sometimes those little moments mean more than the big ones.
I Want Them to Tell Me
Now, before anyone thinks I'm encouraging my kids to wander into every dark tunnel they find, I'm not.
I did talk to Bennett about the dangers.
This was a drainage tunnel. Water can rise quickly, especially during heavy rain or when runoff is flowing from somewhere you can't see.
A place that seems perfectly harmless one minute can become dangerous the next.
And I wanted him to understand that.
But here's something else that's important to me.
I don't want my boys to be afraid to tell me what they're doing.
I don't want Bennett thinking, Dad's going to be mad if I tell him where we went.
I'd much rather he feel comfortable sending me those pictures, even if it's somewhere he probably shouldn't have been. Even if we need to have a conversation afterward about making better decisions.
Because I'd rather have that conversation than have him feel like he needs to hide things from me.
I want Bennett and Hudson to know they can talk to me. About the good decisions, the bad decisions, the exciting adventures, and the mistakes.
I certainly made enough of my own growing up, and I know there will be times when they make theirs.
That's part of growing up.
My job isn't to pretend I can prevent every wrong turn. It's to help them understand the consequences, recognize real dangers, and hopefully make better decisions the next time.
And I hope they always know that they can call Dad.
No matter what.
Let Me Show You Something
The following week, when Bennett and Hudson were back with me, Bennett brought up the tunnel again.
He wanted to show us.
Not just send pictures. Actually take us there.
And naturally, I was all for seeing what he'd discovered.
So on our way home from school, we made a little detour.
Nothing fancy. Nothing planned weeks in advance.
Just a quick adventure.
We parked and walked down toward the tunnel, and I have to admit, it was pretty cool.
Long concrete walls covered in graffiti. Water pooled in sections along the floor. A slight curve that made the tunnel feel even longer than it probably was.
And that incredible light coming through from the other end.
As someone who loves photography, I couldn't help myself. I started taking pictures.
The way the light reflected off the water. The repeating concrete shapes. The graffiti. The silhouettes.
And especially the boys.
Just being boys.
Walking around, looking at things, talking, exploring.
Not posing for the camera. Not doing anything for social media.
Just enjoying the moment.
Those are some of my favorite kinds of photographs.
The ones where nobody is trying to make a memory. They're just living one.
And somewhere along the way, I realized something else.
For years, I've been the one taking Bennett and Hudson places, showing them things, planning trips, and finding new places to explore.
But this time?
Bennett was showing me something.
He was the one who discovered it. He was the one who wanted us to see it. He was the one leading the adventure.
And I was just happy to be invited along.
Sometimes You Just Have to Let Them Go
I think one of the harder parts of parenting is figuring out when to hold on and when to loosen your grip.
When your kids are little, you're involved in almost everything. Where they go, who they're with, what they're doing.
And then, little by little, that starts changing.
They get older, make friends, develop interests, and want independence.
They start discovering things without you.
And I think that's exactly what's supposed to happen.
It doesn't mean you stop being their parent. It doesn't mean you stop worrying. Believe me, I still worry.
And it certainly doesn't mean you stop setting boundaries or having conversations about safety.
But it does mean recognizing that your kids need room to grow.
Room to make decisions, develop confidence, and figure things out.
And maybe even room to get a little lost sometimes.
I want Bennett and Hudson to have that.
I want them to have stories to tell. Places they remember. Friends they explored with. Afternoons when they left the house without a particular plan and came home with something worth talking about.
Because those are the things I remember from my childhood.
Not every school assignment. Not every scheduled activity.
But the bike rides. The adventures. The places we discovered. The friends who were there.
And the feeling that, for a few hours, the world was ours to explore.
Memories They Haven't Made Yet
Someday, Bennett probably won't remember every bike ride he took with his friends.
He might not remember every street they turned down, every place they stopped, or every afternoon they spent riding around Elk River.
Maybe he'll remember this tunnel.
Maybe he won't.
But I hope he remembers what it felt like.
The freedom. The independence. The excitement of discovering something new.
The feeling of being a kid with nowhere in particular to be and an entire afternoon ahead of him.
And I hope Hudson gets to experience those same things as he gets older.
Because when I think back on my own childhood, those are some of the memories that still make me smile.
And maybe that's what made this little adventure so special to me.
For an afternoon, I wasn't just watching Bennett make his own childhood memories.
I was remembering what it felt like to make mine.
And maybe, without even realizing it, Bennett gave me something else that day.
A reminder that sometimes the best adventures aren't the ones we plan for our kids.
They're the ones our kids discover on their own.
And every once in a while, if we're lucky...
They invite us along.
