Free-Range Parenting Means Independence, Not This

Like every other 10-year-old girl in 1996, I was an aspiring gymnast after the Atlanta Olympic Games. The American team had taken gold, and I was certain I’d be on the team by the next games. After coming home from school one day that fall, I decided to practice my beam routine. Unfortunately, my balance beam (also known as the arm of my couch) sat next to my mother’s new glass coffee table, which she had always wanted to buy but held off on because having a glass table around a toddler seemed like asking for trouble.

It turned out having a glass table around an aspiring gymnast was asking for trouble, too, and my weeks-old gymnastics career ended as a result. Home alone, I made my way to a neighbor’s house, and she brought me to the hospital. As I sat in the exam room waiting for my mother to arrive, I got an impromptu anatomy lesson as I examined what the ligaments and joints inside my knee looked like.