When my partner and I tied the knot, we were deep in the trenches of grad school, living the ultimate “ramen noodle” lifestyle. Our wedding ceremony was officiated by a random biker in a bandana, surrounded by friends, with one of them holding a phone so my mom could listen in from Florida—she couldn’t afford the airfare to join us. That biker charged us $80, a sum that made my wallet weep.
Through those frigid Cincinnati winters, my partner and I endured a tiny studio apartment without heat; despite juggling part-time jobs, we could barely afford the gas bill. We trekked through the snow (uphill both ways, of course) to attend class, and our fridge often resembled a barren wasteland. We were funding our educations with little to no parental support, just like so many other students.
Fast forward to today—I have two kids, aged 10 and 6. My partner and I have set up college savings accounts for each of them right from the start, contributing monthly. Based on my calculations and assuming no catastrophic economic downturn, these accounts might cover a year or two at a state school. Unfortunately, they definitely won’t stretch to cover a full four-year degree or, heaven forbid, a private university.
Now, you might expect that after enduring the hardships of my own college years, I’d be eager to bridge that financial gap for my kids. But, I’m not planning to do it. Just as I had to navigate my own educational journey, I want my children to figure it out as well. Many believe that it’s the responsibility of parents to ensure their kids attend the best—and often priciest—schools, but I respectfully disagree.
Sure, we could dip into our retirement accounts to fund their education, but at what cost? Do I want to spend our golden years—those few blissful years post-kids—sacrificing our financial security for an education that my children may or may not utilize? Absolutely not. I’d rather preserve our savings for a comfortable retirement than risk being financially reliant on them when they’re trying to support their own families. A little student loan debt seems more palatable than nursing home bills.
More importantly, I want my kids to learn resilience. I want them to hunt for scholarships, discover financial aid opportunities, take out loans, and even start at a community college before transferring to a four-year institution. They need to earn their education, just like I did.
I pursued a degree in music performance, financing my education mostly through scholarships and a smidgen of loans. Sure, in hindsight, I probably should have double-majored since music is quite niche, but I seized the financial opportunities available to me. Now I hold a master’s degree and work as a freelancer and social media manager—careers that, ironically, my degree didn’t directly prepare me for. The most valuable lessons I learned came from navigating my own financial challenges.
I have no regrets about living frugally during college; in fact, I’m proud of it. It taught me how to stretch a dollar and manage on little—a skill I hope to pass down to my children. If they can endure a little struggle while learning fortitude, resourcefulness, and independence alongside their algebra II and microeconomics, then I’ll consider it a worthy investment of my time and energy.
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In summary, I believe in letting my children navigate their own paths towards higher education, learning valuable life skills along the way. While I may have the means to assist them financially, I’d rather empower them to pursue their dreams independently, cultivating resilience and resourcefulness in the process.