The Pentagon Postcards

Long before the term was ever used, my grandmother, Mary, was the epitome of a helicopter parent. And long before my parents had me, Dad (who would have turned ninety-eight next Wednesday), an only son, was in full rebellion against his mother’s worry-wart ways. 

Dad in his physician years 

The first time he escaped from her was during World War II, when he was drafted into the military. As a medical student with bad feet and extremely thick lenses, he had little chance of seeing active combat. He was stationed in the medical lab at the Pentagon, thousands of miles from the front lines.

But my grandmother was so anxious about what might happen to him that you’d think he was being forced to go into hostile territory in Germany.

Before he left for duty, she handed him a large stack of pre-addressed, stamped postcards. She expected him to send her one every day to reassure her he was still alive.

When he shared this story with me, Dad was particularly gleeful about the ensuing scenario: He enlisted a friend working in the Pentagon mailroom to mail the cards for him every day. If he had somehow died in a lab explosion, my grandmother would still be receiving mail from him.

Me with my Nana Mary

As he grew older, her overprotectiveness continued. Even though he was now a busy doctor, she still demanded he call her every day. She lived just around the corner, less than five minutes away from us, but if we went out for dinner or a movie with her, she made one of us call her to confirm we had arrived home safely after dropping her off. 

I was my grandmother’s favorite, and she started smothering me with her overprotective ways.

Dad’s reaction was to throw all caution to the wind when raising me. He didn’t exactly tell me to play in traffic, but there were no stamped, pre-addressed postcards required when I traveled to Paris in 11th grade, to college at 18, or spent the summer in London at 21. He wanted me to ride bikes, jump off the high dive, and feel free to live life without much parental accountability.

Whereas my grandmother would have been thrilled to shadow her son for his entire life, my dad constantly pushed me to travel, try new things, be independent, and get away from him and my mother.

Sometimes, I would call home to see if my parents were wondering what I was up to. “Remember me?”

My father gave me many gifts. As his birthday approaches, I can gratefully say that one of the best was never putting me on a leash.

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