Mia and her cousin Jasmine are trying to get a long-tailed kite airborne at Victoria, BC’s prime flying zone, Clover Point. People gather here from all over to exhibit their aerial skills and brightly coloured craft. Alas, not today. Its mid-August 2008, and there’s not a breath of breeze in the air. They try running to generate some altitude ... perhaps the breeze is up a little higher. The only thing winded is Mia.

Jasmine is 10, and my youngest daughter Sarah is about to turn 10. They, like all of those restricted by age, aspire to be older. Mia is 12. Two years is an eternity, when it constitutes a fifth of your young life. Sarah and Jasmine seek Mia’s confidence, poise and approval – not to mention the additional autonomy that so much age brings. I’m sure that Mia aspires to be older, too. They follow her around like puppies, vying for her attention.

There are some wholesome and not-so-wholesome role models in mainstream media. Children this age are the target market for pop singers and TV stars who are barely teenagers themselves. Sarah’s favourite singer, Nick Jonas, of the singing Jonas Brothers, turned a wise old 16 years of age in 2008.

I’ve seen some parents restrict exposure to these mass media role models. I certainly don’t like some of them, but to restrict is to invite rebellion. When I was young, I was never subject to the restriction of curfews. My parents trusted my judgement, and I aspired to honour that trust, falling off the horse only occasionally. Conversely, I’ve had friends who were trouble incarnate, because there was no parental trust to dishonour, so they perversely yearned to fulfill what was expected of them.

I trust Sarah and know that part of who she aspires to be is based on my approval. I’m grateful to know that my opinion
matters, for now at least. Mia is charming and polite. I’m grateful for Sarah’s good sense, and I am at peace with her
following Mia.