At our house, back-to-school looks like Moving Day. We’ve evolved from cute lunchboxes to U-Haul trailers. By my count, we’ve moved a kid to a dorm or apartment 12 times over the past seven years, all during the sweltering month of August.
Thankfully, those moves paid off because two of our three kids have now graduated from college and joined the working world. This year we’re only moving our youngest kid back to campus to finish her last two years.
I say the same five words to each of my adult kids every time a moving day is over, right before we leave them: “Take care of my kid.” If I’m lucky, I can say the whole sentence before the tears come. A tidal wave of sadness swamps me every time because, even though their bodies are grown and sometimes taller than mine, part of me feels like I’m leaving my swaddled newborn on the side of a busy road.
But here’s something I’ve learned from the years of moving and leaving. Even when you ask them to take care of your kid, sometimes they won’t. Instead, they’ll eat greasy chicken wings and Skittles at midnight. They’ll scroll on their phones until 3 am. They’ll skip breakfast, forget the sunscreen, not drink enough water, and act as if fiber doesn’t matter at all.
They’ll get hurt, occasionally by others and sometimes by their own recklessness. Often, their willful neglect or avoidance will land them in bad situations. They’ll forget a test. Miss classes. Procrastinate the big project to the point of misery. Their dorm room or apartment might look like a gas station bathroom you’d walk straight back out of, insisting you can hold it for another 50 miles.
And if you’re a stronger, wiser person than me, you’ll keep your paternal or maternal mouth shut. Believe me, you’ll be bursting at the seams with strongly-worded opinions and directions, and they’ll all be based in love and the best intentions. But, most of the time, they won’t help.
Because at this point in their development, hearing a parent say something about what they “should” do will feel like you’re poking a hole in their newfound independence, the precious freedom they’re hard-wired to protect. What you mean as a helpful suggestion will raise their suspicion that you’re still trying to control them, even when you’re not in the same zip code.
If I’m honest, I probably felt that way, too. I went away to college believing that turning 18 meant I finally got to do whatever I wanted. For most of us, it takes months or years before we realize that being a functioning adult means you do things that help make your life run smoother, even when those things aren’t fun or convenient.
In many ways, having a young adult is harder than raising a toddler who has zero interest in their own safety and a laser focus on the next risky adventure. At least with the toddler, you can scoop them up off their feet and distract them with ice cream. By the time they’ve reached 18, they’re way past the age of scooping.
Maybe all we can do is listen, love them, offer guidance (only when asked), and then wait on the sidelines as their lives play out. This is particularly tricky for those of us who are doers — people who love with actions and fixes. And it’s terrifying for those of us who need our own fears eased by making sure our college kid is being safe and responsible.
Parenting can be a rough business, no matter what age. It feels ridiculous to tell an 18-year-old kid to take care of your kid as they step out into the world. And yet, they’re the only ones who can do it now. The mistakes and struggles are part of their journey, and maybe they’re the prerequisite to real growth.
Godspeed to all the big kids in young adult bodies. Go live your messy lives and figure it out. We love you, and we’ll do our best not to yell from the sidelines.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.