I find myself reminiscing about the days when my kids were in elementary school. Just before the dismissal bell, a group of mothers would gather on the blacktop, chatting away. We discussed everything from the complexities of third-grade math to our biggest parenting insecurities. We were all striving to “get it right,” but second-guessed ourselves constantly. Was it too harsh to make our child rewrite spelling words multiple times? Was using the iPad as a temporary babysitter acceptable? And what about that kid who jabbed my son with a pencil—was it wrong to imagine giving him a taste of his own medicine? What bonded us was the shared acknowledgment that we were all just figuring things out.
The parents I found hard to relate to were the ones with rigid rules. They had their household guidelines set in stone and often quoted their own upbringing as a benchmark for success. Their strict beliefs about things like dating left me baffled—why were we discussing romantic relationships for a child still losing baby teeth?
A few of these more inflexible moms infiltrated my circle, and I often wished we had found a way to gently exclude them. Their unwavering confidence made me question my own uncertainty. Why didn’t I have a strict 8 p.m. bedtime? Why wasn’t I enforcing an hour of reading before snack time?
Through conversations with like-minded mothers, I eventually came to some realizations: (1) Parenting is not a one-size-fits-all approach; (2) Confident moms don’t necessarily have more knowledge than I do—they just believe they do; (3) I would never have definitive proof that my parenting choices were 100% correct or wrong. Trusting my instincts, along with advice from my support network, was the best I could do.
As I observe those inflexible parents still around, I see their beliefs have simply evolved. While they may not have time-out chairs anymore, their rigidity remains. Their outdated notion that dropping a child off at college means not seeing them until Thanksgiving is one I find particularly troubling.
I understand the logic: cutting ties with home helps freshmen adjust to their new environment. But this approach seems as risky as tossing a child into a pool and expecting them to swim. Some may adapt well, while others may struggle, forever haunted by the abruptness of their transition. Is it really worth the risk? Surely there are more personalized methods to foster independence and resilience.
It’s unrealistic to assume every child will thrive under the same conditions. I was one of the lucky ones—I jumped out of the car, gathered my belongings, and gleefully headed to my dorm. In contrast, my roommate crumpled under the weight of her parents’ sudden absence, longing for home and her cat. We represent the extremes, but there are countless nuances in between.
I’m still navigating how to support my son during his first taste of independence. He’s been gone for five weeks, and his needs vary from “Leave me alone, you’re suffocating me” to “Send more cookies, urgently.” We don’t always know how to meet his fluctuating demands, and that’s okay. We’re learning together.
Our role is not to anticipate every challenge but to respond when he signals his needs. Contrary to what some may believe, there isn’t a single blueprint for the college experience. The best approach is to recognize our uncertainty and move forward from there.
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