Just last week, my 21-year-old son, Jake, strolled into the kitchen and asked if I could assist him in making a cup of coffee. If you’re familiar with those modern Keurig machines, like mine, you’ll know they are quite straightforward. You simply open the compartment, insert the K-cup filled with coffee, choose your desired cup size, and hit “Brew.” It’s that easy.
However, Jake is my first child, the one who experienced the full attention of a youthful and eager mom. I was the one who laid out his clothes each night, trimmed the crusts off his sandwiches, and peeled his apples. Nowadays, I often find myself skipping the apple altogether.
I held back laughter when he sought help with the coffee, but then I noticed him plopping down with his iPhone. It became clear he didn’t want assistance; he wanted me to make it for him. “Alright,” I said, “let’s get you started.” I guided him through the entire process, and soon enough, he was sipping a steaming cup of coffee.
Shortly after, my 11-year-old son, Ethan, entered the kitchen and whipped up an omelette. He expertly heated a pan on low, cracked an egg into a bowl, added some extra egg whites from the fridge, sprayed the pan with cooking spray, and cooked his breakfast. He topped it all off with Frank’s Hot Sauce and enjoyed it while watching Drake and Josh, sipping hot chocolate made from the Keurig.
The contrast between my first and fourth child never ceases to amaze me. It’s remarkable how much the younger ones have thrived on the independence that often came from my over-involvement with Jake. He is more than capable; in fact, he demonstrated that just today when I dropped him off to catch the bus for a summer internship. This position required a business-casual wardrobe and a mature demeanor. As he poured himself a bowl of cereal that morning, it struck me how much he has grown into an adult.
Of course, there was a fair amount of guidance leading up to his first day at work. We went shopping for appropriate clothes, purchased his monthly bus pass, and even did a test run to find a commuter lot for parking. Deciphering the bus schedule proved somewhat challenging, but it’s understandable since he’s never navigated this before. His younger siblings have consistently benefited from Jake’s experiences, whether it was learning to play an instrument or applying to college. He has paved the way for them.
Watching him step out of my car and join the crowd waiting for the bus was surreal. I felt the urge to follow him, to ensure he boarded the right bus, but I resisted and drove off, witnessing his new jacket fade from view in the rearview mirror. Later, he texted me to let me know he was on the bus and on his way (thumbs-up emoji). “Thanks for the ride and everything else, Mom (heart emojis),” he wrote. I knew he genuinely appreciated it. Despite our occasional disagreements, he understands that I am always in his corner.
There is a delicate balance between being a helicopter parent and simply offering support. I hope I’m leaning more towards the latter. By the time Ethan steps into the real world in a decade, I anticipate there will be less hand-holding, thanks to the examples set by his older siblings.
But I digress; after this morning, I’m grateful that I still have a little one at home. Ethan still wraps his arms around my waist for no reason, sings Maroon 5 at the top of his lungs in the shower, and occasionally forgets to use shampoo. Time truly flies; in an instant, you transition from handing your child a Gatorade to a commuter mug. People often say this, and when you’re in the thick of parenting—carpooling and chicken nuggets—it feels like it will never end. Then suddenly, it does, and you’re left wondering, “What just happened?”
I look forward to picking him up from the bus later and hearing about his day. We’ll celebrate his big milestone with a special dinner. Though Jake may have graduated to khakis and a dress shirt, he will always be my baby.
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Summary
Reflecting on the differences in parenting styles between my first and younger children, I notice the impact of my over-involvement on my oldest. As he embarks on adulthood, I am reminded of the fleeting nature of childhood and the importance of balancing support with independence.
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