notes on parenting

from a non-parent, former child and a recent turtle enthusiast!

New York is fast, but I chose to sit and do nothing for two hours on a perfect June afternoon with some of the city’s slowest moving residents.

For almost two hours, I sat inside a gazebo in Central Park, watching people cycle in and out like wind-up toys on borrowed time. Everyone who passed by stopped to comment on the turtles. They were peeking their heads out, basking in the sun, and then disappearing as mysteriously as they came. It became a ritual. Spot the turtles. Squeal. Leave.

turtles in central park

But I stay.

And in staying, I witness something else: a mother and her son. He’s maybe eight or nine, wiry and determined to find turtles. She settles on a bench while he crouches at the edge of the lake, looking for the turtles. By the time he had come, all the turtles had swum back inside, their little heads no longer poking out. The sun was particularly harsh that day, and I don’t blame them for taking a small respite. But the little boy was determined to get them to come play with him.

As he searched, I chimed in because I was eager to take part in the turtle search. I told them that they were here a while back, and the mom responded that her son had counted 48 yesterday. He immediately corrected her — it was 44, actually. He loved turtles. He had seen the big one yesterday. The snapping turtles were also there, and he knew various tricks to get them to come up.

He started poking the water with a stick and stands by the edge of the lake. “Sound waves,” he explains. Apparently, that’s how you get turtles to come up. Honestly, I believe him.

And just like that the mom and the son settle into their activities. She was on her phone and he was by the lake. There was no panic in the mother’s eyes. No “Be careful!” or “Don’t go too close to the edge!” And I realise something strange: I am the one panicking on her behalf. What if he slipped? What if he fell into the lake and needed rescuing and it’s all on me, a stranger in jeans who hasn’t swum in a very long time? But she just watched, like she’d seen him do this a hundred times. Maybe she had.

She’s not absent. She’s just... trusting. There was an air of familiarity and care in her demeanour.

I’ve always thought parenting was about vigilance. The right gear, the right sunscreen, the right tone of voice when delivering a caution. But this mother seemed to parent with confidence. She was tuned in yet not turned up. Occasionally, she pointed out a bird eating a fish or a rustling in the bushes, a small mouse and other things her son might’ve missed in his laser focus on turtles. She participated in his curiosity in ways that I hadn’t seen before.

Then another parent joined along with his son. They were visiting from Vancouver. It was his son’s first time in New York and he obviously loved Central Park and specifically this gazebo because of the turtles. So they were back the second time. The boys clicked instantly. It was as if they were meant to meet by the water, bonded by a shared love of slow reptiles. The parents chatted. I sat a little straighter to listen in. Many facts were exchanged. Apparently there are three types of turtles in this particular lake. One of them bites — it is called the snapping turtle. The kids continued to play and prod.

The Vancouver dad got nervous when his son neared the edge. He warned him gently. The Oregon mom reassured him, saying “He does this all the time. We go fishing. He grew up around rivers.” The dad visibly relaxed. He kept watching his son by the water, still alert, still cautious. But her words seemed to settle something in him.

After a few minutes, his son came running up and asked for his phone, wanting to show the Oregon boy a picture of the turtle he had taken yesterday. The father didn’t fully hand it over, he had one hand gripped to his phone while the Vancouver kid with little to no abandon started showing him the pictures. The dad, though, was clearly stressed about the phone falling into the lake, which he tried not to show.

The caution, while different, didn’t feel wrong. It felt specific. His concern didn’t interrupt the moment. It just hovered alongside it, quietly, the way love sometimes does when it doesn’t know where to place itself.

And yet again, we all settled into our rhythms until we were interrupted by a loud gasp because the kids caught a turtle. Now I don’t know if this is allowed, but man, they were gentle and kind and ELATED about the turtle. The Vancouver dad told me it was very safe and that this turtle doesn’t bite. I asked if I could hold it too, but it was too late. The turtle had already slipped back into the water.

The play wasn’t all smooth though, at some point, I was interrupted by a SPLASH and a SCREAM because the Oregon kid had actually slipped. He didn’t fall too far or dangerously, just enough to be soaked and muddy. He was a tad embarrassed but he didn’t want to stop playing yet. His mother didn’t panic even now. Even when his first question after falling was “Can I still play?” His mom replied “Yay! Of course. We’ll shower at home.” There was not a glimpse of annoyance or discomfort. The Vancouver parent didn’t stop his kid either. They just had a small laugh and shared a seaweed cracker!

That’s when it clicks for me.

Parenting is so much harder than we think it is. But maybe it gets easier when you stop parenting your own fear, and start seeing your kid for who they really are. Not a fragile extension of yourself. Not a consequence waiting to happen. But a curious, competent, deeply alive person who wants to play with turtles, hold your phone dangerously close to the lake and maybe fall in sometimes.

There is no wrong or right way. I think it is perhaps just unlearning the idea that love means control, that safety means restriction, that being a good parent means never letting your child feel discomfort. Maybe it's about learning to see them as complete individuals with their own capacity for judgment, resilience, and joy. The child doesn't need your permission to be fascinated. I think your job is to just witness them as they come into their own!

I’m not a parent yet. But if and when I am, I hope I remember this day. I hope I carry extra clothes. I hope I pack snacks and crocs and a small towel. But more than that, I hope I remember not to fill their world with fear that isn’t theirs.

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