It’s 8pm do you know where your kids are?

Remember when dropping your kid off at school meant slowing the car down just enough for them to leap out like a secret agent and make a run for the playground? Back in our day, the morning drop-off was a breeze. No cones, no staff with radios, no complicated traffic patterns—just “have fun, don’t eat dirt,” and a honk for good luck.

Now? Oh, we’re living in the Age of the Drop-Off Line. The high-stakes, slow-moving, caffeine-fueled Hunger Games of suburban parenting.

Let’s review the rules, shall we?

Don’t line up a minute before 8:40.

I know your car’s warm and your podcast is on, but this isn’t a tailgate. You’re not camping out for concert tickets. Sit in a side street like the rest of us and merge like a grown-up.

Don’t. Get. Out. Of. The. Car.

I promise your child can unbuckle themselves and shut the door. We believe in them. They believe in themselves. Let’s not have 30 parents behind you watch you slowly open the trunk, retrieve a backpack, a water bottle, a violin, and a science fair tri-fold like you’re unloading at the airport.

Kids only exit on the passenger side.

Not the driver’s side. Not the sunroof. Not teleportation. The passenger side. Please.

Keep. The. Line. Moving.

This is not the time to give a pep talk, check their socks, or remind them to eat lunch. That’s what last night was for. Today, the goal is swift separation.

Now, I get it. You want your kid to have a smooth, safe start to their day. We all do. But somewhere between “be home when the streetlights come on” and “text me when you breathe,” we got a little… extra.

Are kids really in more danger now? Or are we just on constant high alert because our phones can notify us of anything, anywhere, instantly?

When we were kids, our parents let us roam free. We played on rusty metal playgrounds, climbed trees without supervision, used our backpacks as sleds in the winter and drank out of the hose in summer. And we turned out mostly fine (minus that one scar everyone has from something).Now we live in a world where it feels like if you’re not hand-delivering your kid to the classroom door with a protein-packed bento box and an emotional support llama, you’re doing it wrong.

But maybe—just maybe—we can chill. Let the kids hop out, wave goodbye, and strut into school like the mini rockstars they are. Let’s reclaim a little of that old-school magic. Maybe the kids will still be alright…