The Laura McEntire S

The Laura McEntire Syndrome

Every group, professional or amateur, religious or pagan, develops a lexicon to describe its unique qualities and confuse outsiders. Educators rank right up there with the military in coining phrases and concocting acronyms.  The latest expression circulating among educators is “helicopter parents”—those who take their job a little too seriously and hover a little too closely.
Helicopter parents simply can’t let go of their offspring. They have this unnerving habit of lurking behind lockers, stalking the lunchroom, volunteering for every imaginable job that will give them access to the school, and then call principals, superintendents, and board members when things don’t go their way. I shudder to think!
Helicopter parents don’t leave their annoying habits at the school house door. They attack coaches at ball games, complete badge requirements for scouts, work endlessly on science projects, and make sure their children have the right friends. They bring their middle schoolers lunch from local fast food chains.
My brother had his own personal version of a helicopter parent at a time when such foolishness was not in vogue. He had Laura McEntire, a spinster who lived with us. Most families took in other family members, but ours didn’t discriminate. We took in the neighbor who helped raise my mother.
Laura loved all of us, but Ted was the apple of her eye. You didn’t even consider that last Coca-Cola chilling in the refrigerator. It was saved for Ted. She would make his bed and hope that Mother didn’t notice. Because if she did, she immediately stripped the bed down to the mattress and poor Ted would have to start from scratch. Laura would smolder almost as much as her cigarette.
Every afternoon Laura helped Ted roll the newspapers for his route until her bony fingers were ink-black. Ted said the other day that he would have put her in the basket on the front of his bicycle and let her throw the papers if he had had room for her. Believe me; she would have willingly climbed aboard.
Laura never married nor had children. Back in her day the two went together. She focused all her maternal instincts first on Mother and then on Ted—neither suffered from the smothering. When Rachel was born, Mother insisted that she name her. After all, Tim and I named the boys and it was her turn. Rachel Laura was born on Good Friday and is the namesake of the spry spinster who spent much of her life loving someone else’s children. Not a bad life.
I suppose every child needs a Laura McEntire. Someone who thinks they are the most wonderful thing since sliced bread. The trick is to fine the delicate balance between hovering a little too closely and showing up at just the right moment.
I have two little boys who have captured my heart.  My grandson is still a cuddly, sweet baby and the other tears through the house trying to examine everything at one time. I daydream about all the wonderful things we will do together and about the kind of young men they will become. I plan to keep my rotors whirring at a safe enough distance that they know how much I love them but not so close that I create a dust storm.  
I learned a lot from Laura McEntire. Now it is my turn to pass it on. I look forward to the ride.