That changed six years ago when my family moved to Barcelona. During our first spring here, we attended a Catalan calotada, a community gathering where you barbecue green onions.
My son’s friends were climbing a tree. Naturally, my then-5-year-old joined in. Once he reached the top, the local parents started clapping. But they weren’t clapping for my kid. They were clapping for me. For once, I hadn’t intervened. I let my kid be a kid.