I feel confident that given the chance, Sam will make it through many of life's songs, no matter how many do-overs and false starts he has to endure along the way. I wish that same confidence for my other three children. I wish it for all of us.
We can deal with generational differences more effectively if we understand that Millennials are the product of the most educated parents in history. I get it; helicopter parents need to come down to earth. But get this, we involved parents are not going away.
So should you go or will that make you look like the emotionally stunted "helicopter parent"? Or if you are the employee, should you ask your parents or will that make you look like you need to grow up?
Oh boy, I thought. Talk about helicopter parenting. It was cringe-inducing to watch. There are a lot of reasons why parents shouldn't intervene. Aside from not allowing our children to develop their own coping skills, we don't always know what's going on with the situation at hand.
My 7-year-old son and I had a fun but tiring summer last year, a three-month push and pull between his desire to grow up and my desire to keep him safe. I vowed to make this summer a summer of more freedom for both of us, and enlisted the help of Lenore Skenazy.
As a mom of two young boys, I certainly understand the desire to want to protect your children. After all, who wants to see their child struggle and suffer? But the reality is that children need to experience failure in their lives.
Nobody disputes the value of parental wisdom, advice and support, but at a certain point, you've got to take responsibility for your future. Mom and Dad aren't doing you any favors if they're the ones jumping in and running point for your career exploration.
We live in a time when we can Google everything, share ideas and expose our children to amazing opportunities, but anyone that implies that they have it figured out is either drunk or lying (or both), so don't be too hard on yourself.
As my 29-year-old son was ticking off all the weddings he and his girlfriend would be attending in the coming 12 months, I blurted, “So when are you getting married?” “Mom!!!” he said (I swear I could hear the exclamation marks of annoyance).
The plan was to drop my son off at college this weekend and come home to write about my newly emptied nest. But then Isaac turned toward New Orleans, and my goal of being a laid back, non-helicoptering mother turned into something else, too.
I've been appalled at the way in which NBC's Olympic coverage has become a celebration of parents crossing the line from healthy support of their children into a neurotic condition of living their lives through the experiences of their offspring.
I know our 12-year-old is going to ask for assurance that something like that can never happen to her and would never happen where we live. And I know there will be nightmares and much more anxiety to come for her when neither I nor her dad can make her that promise.