Last week, my 21-year-old son, Ethan, wandered 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, you know they’re pretty straightforward. Just pop in a K-cup, choose your cup size, and hit “Brew.” Simple, right?
But Ethan is my firstborn. He was the lucky one who had a young, eager mother always ready to prepare his outfits for the next day, trim his sandwich crusts, and peel his apples. Now, I struggle to even remember to buy apples, let alone peel them.
So, I held back a chuckle when he asked for help with the coffee. But as he plopped down and began scrolling through his iPhone, I realized he wasn’t really seeking guidance. He just wanted me to make the coffee for him.
“Alright,” I said, “you need to walk over to the machine and open it up.” I guided him through the entire process, and soon enough, he was savoring a steaming cup of coffee.
Not long after, his younger brother, Alex, strolled in and whipped up an omelette. He grabbed a pan, heated it up, cracked an egg into a bowl, added some extra egg whites, sprayed the pan with cooking spray, and cooked his breakfast. He topped it off with Frank’s Hot Sauce and settled down to watch Drake and Josh while enjoying his eggs and a hot chocolate made in the Keurig.
The contrast between my first and fourth child never ceases to amaze me. It’s astonishing how much the younger ones have thrived from the experiences I had with my oldest. All my hovering may have hindered Ethan’s desire to do things independently, even though he is fully capable. He showed me just how capable he was today when I dropped him off to catch a bus for his summer internship an hour north. This job demanded business-casual attire and a grown-up demeanor, and when he came into the kitchen for breakfast, it took my breath away to see him standing there, pouring a bowl of cereal like an adult.
Of course, there had been a fair amount of hand-holding leading up to his first day at work. We bought some proper clothes, secured his monthly bus pass, and even did a test run to locate a commuter lot where he could park for free. Reading the bus schedule was a bit tricky for him, but, after all, he had never done anything like this before. His younger siblings have benefited from his trailblazing — from learning to play instruments to navigating college applications — he’s paved the way for them.
Watching him walk away from the car and join the bustling crowd waiting for the bus was surreal. Part of me wanted to jump out and make sure he boarded the right bus, but I resisted and drove off, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror as he disappeared in his new jacket.
Later, he sent me a text saying he was on the bus and on his way (thumbs-up emoji). “Thanks for the ride and everything else, Mom (heart and lovey emojis),” he wrote. I knew he meant it. Despite our occasional clashes, he understands that I’m always in his corner.
Finding the balance between being an overprotective parent and simply offering support is challenging. I hope I’m leaning more towards the latter. By the time my youngest is ready to venture into the world, in about a decade, I suspect there will be less hand-holding involved, thanks to the experiences he’s watching unfold with his older siblings.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. After that morning, I’m grateful to still have my little boy, who hugs me for no reason, sings Maroon 5 at the top of his lungs in the shower, and sometimes forgets to use shampoo.
Time flies, and in the blink of an eye, you transition from handing your child a Gatorade to a commuter mug. People often say this, and when you’re in the thick of carpooling and chicken nuggets, it feels like it will never end. Then, suddenly, it starts to wind down, and you’re left thinking, “What just happened?”
All I know is that I’m eager to pick him up from the bus later and hear all about his day over dinner, which I’ll prepare to celebrate his new adventure. He may have traded skater clothes for khakis and a dress shirt, but he will always be my baby.
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Summary
This article reflects on the evolving nature of parenting as children grow and become more independent. The author shares personal experiences with her sons, highlighting the differences between her firstborn and youngest child, and the bittersweet realization of how quickly time passes. While navigating the balance between support and independence, the author cherishes the moments with her children, embracing their growth while still holding onto their childhood.