When my children enrolled in college, I decided to step away from supervising their education. I would no longer keep too close an eye on their grades or class performance.
I confess that it was a selfish decision, but as the mother of five, I’d already spent too many hours checking homework, reviewing tests, and reading book reports. By my calculation, I’d signed 260 report cards, four a year per child, over a 28-year period from when my oldest entered kindergarten until my youngest graduated from high school.
Some friends disagreed with my decision, saying, “As long as we’re paying tuition, we’re checking grades.” One friend even asked her son to share his college email password so she could access his messages.
I wasn’t completely disengaged. I paid their tuition, bought their books and supplies, and sent care packages at least once a month.
My kids participated in the full college experience
I cried a bucket of tears as I helped each one settle into their dorm rooms, but I was ecstatic that I no longer had to wake them up every morning.
Of course, I was curious about how things were going, so we spoke often, especially during their first few months away from home. I still recall feeling touched when my second son called from the supermarket to ask what he needed to buy to make a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese. He’s the same one who’d initially said he wanted us to drop him in the main parking lot of his university so he could navigate check-in on the first day, only to change his mind as we approached and ask us to help him settle in.
He’s also the one who participated in the full college experience, including weekend parties, drinking, and cutting class for a few extra hours of sleep.
I’m not so naïve as to believe his siblings didn’t do the same; it’s just that he was the most forthcoming about his activities.
Things changed when they shifted into young adulthood
After my second and third sons graduated from college, they rented a house with five other young men. I toured it before anyone moved it. It was spectacular, and I was jealous that I wouldn’t get to live in it. Once they all moved in, I didn’t return. I shuddered as I imagined what a houseful of young men would look — and smell — like.
I didn’t need to worry. Once college was in the rearview, every boy in that house changed their behavior.
They had entered the world of work and so had cut back on their drinking and partying, telling me, “We’re young professionals now, not college students.”
The quarter-life crisis hit right on schedule
All five of my children are gainfully employed and thriving in their careers. They’re pursuing interests and fulfilling dreams they’ve nurtured since childhood, but along with success has come the realization that being an adult is not always fun. That’s called the quarter-life crisis.
At brunch with my third son a few years ago, he said that he missed the days when I’d wake him up, feed him, tell him what to wear, and tuck him into bed at night. He said, “Sometimes a guy just needs his mom.”
It was a sweet sentiment, but the reality is that there’s nothing I can do to protect any of my kids from the quarter-life crisis. Like puberty, they just have to power through.
I’m cheering them on from the sidelines
I’ve told my kids about my experience in quarter life. Turning 25 was profound for me, and one of the hardest birthdays to celebrate. I was scared about an uncertain future.
For them, the quarter-life crisis is about how mundane adulthood is — go to work, pay the mortgage, feed the family. They’re pondering the question, “Is this all there is?” My response is yes, and… to bonding with the loves of their lives, to raising beautiful children, and to finding success as innovators in their fields. Quarter-life is just another of the many life chapters they need to not just endure but enjoy before the next crisis hits at mid-life. I hope I’m there on the sidelines for them then, too.
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