See how high I can Climb

There are moments in parenting when life gently taps you on the shoulder and whispers, Look… this is what it’s all about. The Papagoya camping trip was one of those moments.

When the Playmakers announced they needed five parent guardians, I volunteered almost instantly (not really!). Part curiosity, part excitement, part nerves. I wanted to see how Luca—my six-year-old son—behaves in the wild, unscripted world of friends, mud, trees, and adventure. Watching him at school pick-up or during structured classes is one thing. Watching him out there, with his tribe, with his Playmakers, is another story entirely.

And if I’m honest, a small part of me went because of an old, lingering fear: Would he be the shy kid I once was? Would he carry the same hesitations, the same quietness I wrestled with growing up?

Being a shy child comes with its own maze—slow starts, uncertain friendships, the constant tug-of-war between wanting to be unseen and wanting to belong. I’ve always hoped my children would find an easier path. So for years now, I’ve been walking on eggshells, watching Luca and Rafa grow, searching for glimpses of who they might become.

But life never reveals itself in neat answers.It spills out in colours.

And watching those colours unfold in my boys—well, that has been worth the wait.

The Luca I Saw at Camp

Luca is shy… sometimes. But not with the people who carry pieces of his world. With his friends, he’s a whirlwind of confidence. A loud, laughing, tree-climbing, story-spinning monkey-boy.

At camp, he was exactly that. The first to climb any tree within reach. The first to scramble up a rock. The first to say, “See how high I can climb!” before the Playmakers sprinted over to gently negotiate a safer height.

And me? I should have been the cautious parent guardian—the adult voice reminding him to slow down, come down, hold on, be safe.

But what can I say? I grew up exactly like that. Barefoot. Mud-loving. Always climbing something. Always stretching the limits of gravity before adults pulled me back to Earth.

So instead of stopping him, I watched. Watched him move with the sure-footed boldness that comes so naturally to him. Watched his friends follow him into mischief. Watched the tiny version of me—but freer, lighter, more joyful.

And suddenly, my worry softened. He is shy in his own way, yes. But he is also brave in ways I never was at his age. He steps out into the world with open eyes, strong hands, and a heart that says, Let me try.

The World They’re Growing Up In

Parenting today feels like a tightrope walk in fast-forward. The world is changing faster than we can interpret it. Kids stumble into a future we still don’t understand. And we try—oh, we try—to prepare them.

But every time I feel overwhelmed, I find myself going back to my own roots. The farm. The trees. The mud. The berries and papayas and drumsticks. The earthworms that Rafa proudly harvests like treasure. The cows that give us milk which becomes memories across breakfast tables.

These simple things remind me what childhood is supposed to feel like:connection, curiosity, courage, and the freedom to climb a little higher than the adults expect.

And maybe that’s the game we’re all playing as parents—keeping them safe, while letting them experience enough risk to grow.

Climbing as a Metaphor

At camp, Luca’s climbing became a metaphor I didn’t know I needed.

He climbs because he can. Because he trusts his body. Because he loves the challenge. Because the world makes more sense to him from a higher branch.

And I realised that my job is not to keep him grounded.It’s to stand below him—watching, guiding, catching if needed—while letting him discover his own height.

In The End

Parenting isn’t about preventing our children from becoming who we once were. It’s about giving them enough space, enough love, and enough stories to become who they’re meant to be.

Luca climbs. Rafa digs for earthworms. I watch the colours of their childhood unfold.

And somewhere between the trees, the mud, the sky, and the laughter, I understand: they’re writing their own version of my past—and building a future I can only imagine, branch by branch, risk by risk, climb by climb.