The Dance of Parenthood

More than a decade ago when we took our daughter to college for her freshman year, I was convinced I would be the stoic one. (Years of practice—throughout my career, I had counseled parents to embrace this moment as a reflection of a job well done and a new chapter in their child’s life.) Of course, when it came to my time, I was wrong. I tried to draw the process out, but everything moved much too quickly for me. The perky RAs swooped in and emptied our car with breakneck speed. The all-too-brief parent meeting with the college dean ended with the instruction that it was time for us to leave campus. I tried to rationalize and probably suppress my emotions on our six-hour drive home, but there was no getting around it—I was sad. Dropping my son off two years later, I thought I would do better. I didn’t. 

During the first couple of weeks of school, I see versions of this parental distress and pride in the drop-off line. The scene in each car is different, and it is easy to tell who is having the more difficult time. Hugs, kisses, handshakes, fist bumps, nicknames, secret hand signals, and other family rituals are sprinkled throughout the flow of cars. When the car door closes and the child or children walk toward their classrooms, the lingering parental gazes reflect bittersweet thoughts—likely “Am I ready for this?” more often than “Is my child?” 

While there were undoubtedly phases of my children’s adolescence that I wish had moved faster, I don’t think I ever fully understood how precious the time with them was until later. As parents we perform a complicated dance of pulling close and pushing away with our children. There will be moments when our choreography aligns and we embrace, and other times, predictable or not, when the same movements launch us in different directions, affirming their independence. This dance never stops, and I find solace in knowing we will come around again and see what each other has become.

Welcome back.

John