Baby on Board parents keep signs for life.
0 comment Wednesday, August 20, 2014 |
The NYT reports on colleges that are forcefully, albeit diplomatically, severing the ties between the incoming freshmen and their Lassie-come-home parents. "Parental separation" is becoming a real problem on college campuses. It seems the parents simply will not leave.
This is completely foreign to me. I gladly drove myself to Virginia across the several states in the old Buick wagon my mother begrudgingly bequeathed to me, kicking up my heels all the way. (The windows weren't tinted, though, God forbid.)

On this journey I boldly strode alone, even after I blindly gave permission to my sight-unseen roommate to buy me a Merimekko comforter for my twin bed. She was certain I would love it. I was certain I'd like domestic tranquility. And the matching comforter thing was really important to her.
Other college memories? Oh, there was that really bad haircut I got at the local mall. So shorn was I, that I cried and cried and my mascara stained my stupid comforter. I remember that.

That, and my matchey roommate had little crystal baubles to contain and display her jewelry. Which was fine, except she intentionally left on the "Gorham" stickers. I know, because I helpfully tried to remove them and she had a nervous breakdown. Oops. (I say "it's tacky" and you say "it's toothpick." Tomato, tomahto!)
But memories of parental presence, excessive or otherwise? Umm, no.
After school was underway, I have but a vague recollection of my parents dropping in for a "parents' weekend" my freshman year. They were on their way to my dad's Citadel reunion, coincidentally passing through. We might have gone out for dinner one night. I think we did. But don't quote me on that.
I do clearly remember my father's insistence that I follow another student on my drive home for Christmas break. But only because I'd lost a contact lense and was driving one-eyed. Thank God she sped.

But now it's a strange new unbrave world. The term "helicopter parents" has given way to the dreaded "velcro parents." Hercules couldn't pry these parents apart from their progeny.
It's no wonder, then, that sociologists are now re-naming the stages of adulthood altogether. The "twenties" are now referred to as "emerging adulthood." And the little people under foot, the ones we call "children"? What are they? Emerging rebels?
But what I'd really like to know is: who is behind this micro-parenting? And what can be done?
In this new day dawning, I worry about Mr. M. Because when the schools expand dorm rooms to accommodate visiting parents, I so won't be there.

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