Letting my 11-year-old go fishing alone taught me more about parenting than I expected

We grew up with scraped knees, stranger danger and the ‘be home before dark’ rule. So why does giving our own kids an ounce of independence feel so terrifying?

When my 11-year-old asked if he could go fishing with his mates - no adults, just the kids - I felt like he was asking to walk into the wilderness with a butter knife and a prayer.

Never mind that the river is five minutes from our house. Or that he’s more responsible than half the adults I know. My gut response? Absolutely not.

But then, I remembered my own childhood.

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We find it hard to let our kids go out into the world. Image: Supplied

Rusty pipes, sea caves and absolutely no helmets

My husband grew up in Scotland, where his days were spent roaming castle ruins and fields with his cousins. Meanwhile, I was in suburban Sydney, riding my bike through backstreets, looking for whichever house had a pile of bikes out the front - the universal 1980s sign for 'your mates are here'.

We’d spend hours in the bush on dodgy homemade skate ramps, exploring sea caves, balancing on rusted pipelines that led to the oyster farms, and jumping on trains to the beach with a few coins and a muesli bar.

No one knew where we were. Our only job was to be home before dark, or call from a payphone if we were angling for a sleepover.

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Stranger danger was a sticker on a mailbox

Stranger danger was covered once a year at school, and some houses had ‘Safety House’ stickers on the mailbox - little yellow signs letting kids know someone inside could be trusted if things went sideways. That was it. Good luck, kids. Have fun out there.

Our kids? Not so much.

Now we worry like it’s our full-time job. 

We worry. Constantly.

Maybe it’s the internet. Maybe it’s the heartbreaking stories of kids like Daniel Morcombe, Madeleine McCann and William Tyrrell, embedded in our collective memory. Whatever it is, we've raised our children like the big bad wolf is waiting around every corner.

We look back now and realise we may have overcorrected.

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We were free-range. Our kids are on leashes.

We live near the water, and for years we’ve watched local kids - same age as ours - walking past our house with tackle boxes and rods. “I can’t believe their parents let them go alone,” we’d gasp, clutching our invisible pearls. ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN.

Our kids would beg to walk to the park by themselves. And we - who once balanced barefoot on rusted steel pipelines - would drive them and awkwardly loiter in the background like overgrown hall monitors.

But lately… we’ve had an epiphany. Maybe we’ve been a bit much.

Enter: The Fish Kid

Our youngest, now 11, is a devoted fisherman. He watches fishing YouTube channels religiously, learning knots and techniques with the same intensity other kids reserve for Fortnite. He begs his dad to take him down to the river every spare weekend.

A couple of his friends are part of a crew of regular local fishers. They trot off after school with their gear and are home by dusk - sun-kissed, muddy, beaming.

And our son? He’s been begging to go with them. Non-stop.

So last weekend, we caved.

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Why is so hard to give our kid a little independence? Image: Supplied.

IF IF IF IF IF

We agreed. With conditions.

He could go:
If they fished at the spot five minutes from our house.
If he took a phone.
If he promised to call if he felt unsafe or unsure.
If he was okay with me “swinging past” (read: low-key stalking from a respectful distance).
If he answered his phone. Every ten minutes. Without fail.

His friends didn’t even roll their eyes. Not to my face, anyway. They were just thrilled he could come. They practically beamed.

I, meanwhile, turned into a phone pest.

"Mum, I’m trying to catch a fish. Can we not?!"
“MUM, I CAN’T TALK. Brodie saw an eel, we’re trying to catch it!”
“MUM, I’M FINE. That noise? That’s just Kaden laughing. We’re trying to use red frog lollies as bait.”
“MUM… WHAAAAT?”

He had the best time.

So what’s really changed? Why was I so worried?

Sure, we’ve got more data, more headlines, more fear than our parents had - but has the world really become more dangerous, or have we just lost the ability to let go a little?

I don’t have the perfect answer. I still tracked his location. I still hovered in the background. I still felt a pit in my stomach that didn’t fully go away until he came home, sunburnt and proud, holding up a photo of a fish his friend caught.

But I also felt something else. 

Pride. That he’s ready for these tiny steps of independence. And maybe pride that I’m finally ready too.

Our own parents wouldn't have even known if we were out fishing! Image: Supplied.

Maybe this is what parenting is meant to feel like

Because as much as we joke that we’re raising our kids in bubble wrap, what we’re really trying to do is raise them to be capable, confident, and okay without us - eventually.

And sometimes, that starts with letting them go fishing.

Originally published as Letting my 11-year-old go fishing alone taught me more about parenting than I expected