The chicken-wire canoe: a tribute to dreaming big
Recently, a dear friend of mine lost his mother. In the wake of her passing, he shared a memory with me from his childhood growing up in Topanga Canyon. It’s a hilarious story about being wild and free, but as I read it, I realized it also perfectly captures the absolute best kind of parenting.
When my friend was six and his older brother was eight, they approached their mom with a grand vision: They were going to build a canoe and paddle it five miles down Topanga Creek all the way to the ocean. They anticipated waterfalls, rapids, and boulders. They were absolutely certain they could do it.
Their chosen materials? Tree branches, chicken wire, a tarp, and duct tape. To protect the bow and stern from rocks, they meticulously secured empty soup cans to the ends.
In my work with Snowmass Nannies, I spend a lot of time observing how we raise kids today. Our modern instinct is often to gently intervene. We want to clear the obstacles, buy the proper gear, or point out the logistical flaws in a plan before anyone gets disappointed.
But clinical psychologist and parenting expert Dr. Becky Kennedy frequently talks about the concept of resilience. She notes that a parent's job is not to fix their child's problems or prevent them from feeling frustrated, but to be a "sturdy leader" who safely allows them to experience those difficult emotions. When we constantly intervene to prevent our kids from failing, we rob them of the opportunity to develop the very resilience they need for adulthood.
My friend’s mom understood this intuitively. By encouraging their wild idea and letting them try and fail, she became that sturdy leader. She had to have been laughing under her breath at the sight of a chicken-wire boat, but she never let it show. She just gave them her full support and said, "Okay boys, that sounds like a great idea!"
When the boys proudly announced the canoe was ready, they packed a lunch and gave her a pickup location down at the beach. As they hauled the boat down the driveway, she stopped them, camera ready, and asked for a smile. My friend remembers wondering why she wanted a photo before they were even in the water. Whatever, he thought. Take it, and let's get going.
They put the canoe in the stream, climbed aboard, and made it exactly five feet before it abruptly sank to the bottom.
The boys were completely baffled. They scratched their heads, wondering how their masterpiece had failed them. Their mom didn't laugh, and she didn't point out that duct tape and soup cans aren't exactly marine-grade engineering. She simply looked at them and said, "Awe, I'm sorry boys, that's too bad. Maybe you can fix it?"
So, the boys hauled their sodden, broken craft back up the driveway and immediately prepared for the rebuild.
My friend told me that his mom always let them dream big and got behind their projects, "even when our imagination far exceeded reality." It’s a beautiful legacy to leave behind.
Maybe we could all use a little more of that wild Topanga spirit. The next time your kids come to you with a messy, impossible plan, resist the urge to correct it. Hand them the duct tape. Take the picture. Let them launch. Because our job isn't to make sure the canoe floats. Our job is to be the safe harbor they return to when it goes under, reminding them that the only thing left to do is try again.