A few years back, when my eldest child headed off to college, the transition was surprisingly smooth. Enrolled in a trimester-based program, he left a few weeks later than his peers, and by then, we were all prepared. As we drove away from campus, I fought back tears, but it was hard to be too sad; we knew he would thrive—and that we would too.
However, after his first winter break, the reality of his absence hit my husband and me harder. During the holiday, it felt like we had reverted to our usual routines, as if the grand adventure was over. But then he departed again. We exchanged glances over dinner, both of us feeling the weight of his absence. “Every time he leaves, I realize things will never be the same,” I confessed. “Every time he leaves, I fear I might not see him again,” my husband replied.
That’s the cycle of it all. They come and go, each departure filled with a mix of joy and sorrow. The stuff they bring, the habits we notice, the sweet moments we cherish. And then there are the summers, another chapter in this ongoing narrative. Hello, goodbye.
This summer, my son is immersing himself in the vibrant life of Manhattan. It feels like the perfect setting for him—a place he must explore. New York has always held a magnetic pull for me, like a sun at the center of my universe. Growing up in Connecticut, the city’s allure was undeniable; it was a world of excitement, so close yet so different from our small town. I remember the thrill of visiting, catching a Yankees game, or attending an opera at the ornate Met.
My first real connection to the city was during an overnight stay at a college I had been accepted to. I pondered if I wanted to take that leap, gazing out at the busy streets from a window. I ultimately opted to remain in Connecticut, close to home.
Years later, when my college boyfriend—now my husband—moved to New York, I found myself driving my old Ford Escort into the city for weekends, hoping it wouldn’t break down in the chaotic outskirts. We strolled through the bustling streets, enjoyed art in museums, and dined at local diners (no Chipotle back then). I still recall those sleepless nights, listening to the sirens and the urban symphony.
My husband had his own ties to New York. A Baltimore native, his father worked in Manhattan, and his Dutch ancestors had literally arrived on the Halve Maen, settling the area. It was only natural for him to give the city a shot.
Now, my son feels that same gravitational pull. While studying in New York state, he resides in a garden-like environment, reminiscent of our own experiences. Growing up, he was raised on reruns of Friends—before Netflix—since we owned all the seasons. At some point, he will have to decide if this city is where he belongs. Why not now? Until the moment he loaded his car with his belongings and drove off, it all felt reasonable.
Yet, the night after he left, I found myself tossing and turning, worries flashing like the lights I imagined twinkling outside his window. Sending him off to college with a meal plan had felt secure; he would eat well. At school, there were rules, campus safety, and support staff. But in Hell’s Kitchen? That felt different!
What was his apartment like? I hadn’t even seen it. Bed bugs, roaches, rats? Did he know how to stock a fridge? Three meals out a day would either drain our finances or send him spiraling into poor health. Had he secured a job? We played no part in helping him find one.
I woke my husband, who reassured me, reminding me that we had navigated these transitions before. Summer is a time of change. Remember?
Parenthood is filled with crossroads. Each milestone we successfully navigate—walking, talking, reading—feels like a small victory. By now, with three kids and countless transitions, we should know that another one is always on the horizon.
This summer, my son is taking on Manhattan. Recently, I visited him and smiled as the bus driver played “New York, New York” while we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. The city’s energy is still electric—the heat, the vibrancy.
He was excited to see me, showing up for dinner and lunch the next day, his youthful eagerness for care and nourishment evident. Yet, he had already grown more city-savvy. We rode the subway, explored the streets, and he introduced me to the city he’s beginning to call home. It felt like a nostalgic trip back to the ’80s, with only the Starbucks cups in our hands signaling the changes; the man beside me was now my son, not my husband.
This experience is bound to be transformative. If he can make it here, he can make it anywhere—a sentiment we all recognize. Young aspirations often shape our decisions, while maturity brings clarity about what success truly means. In between those stages lies the undeniable allure of New York. Here’s to the city that continues to inspire.
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Summary
This article reflects on the bittersweet experience of sending a child off to college and the challenges of parenting during these transitions. It captures the nostalgia of exploring New York City and the inevitable changes that come with growing up, all while emphasizing the joys and worries of parenthood.