No Parents Allowed

My son is on cruise control. His senior year of high school is winding down. Most of the hard work is over. Pomp and Circumstance is still two and a half months away but he has been eyeing his future ever since he toured colleges last summer. While one chapter is winding down, another is ramping up.

A child's growing autonomy is a funny thing. It unfolds in fits and starts. My son has been clinging to his independence over the past year, filling his personal schedule, communicating less with his parents (sigh) and  - with a whole new world only six months away - becoming (understandably) a little more self-centered. None of this is terminal of course, and frankly all fairly age-appropriate. But equal parts nerve-wracking and encouraging.

As just another adult I can objectively view his behavior through the lens of someone who has been there, walked the same steps, worked through the same growing pains. But as a parent, I have discovered that letting go has its own set of fits and starts, as well as stark realizations.

Parents want many things for their children - academic success, meaningful friendships, viable skills, good manners, happiness. In a nutshell, we want our kids to have better lives than we have, be better people. More of everything "good" - less of everything "bad." But therein lies the rub. Sometimes good things come only after bad things have been suffered and endured. We can give our children coping skills to confront difficulty, but we can't steer them clear of every shipwreck. As much as we try, as much as we warn, they are going to be dashed upon the rocks now and then. All we can do is hope they have learned how to patch the hull breeches that will eventually come.

A child's growing autonomy has a flipside as well. Growing up, I craved privacy. Like Superman's Fortress of Solitude, my bedroom was off-limits. Today, in this cyber-social world we occupy, privacy is not perceived the same way. Facebook, Twitter, etc., allows teenagers to reveal themselves to the world like a graphic novel, complete with dramatic pictures and pithy soundbites.

But while privacy within teen peer groups has changed, privacy between parents and children remains the same old, same old. Like a bobber at the end of a fishing pole, kids are constantly pressing parents, asking them to let out more and more line the closer to adulthood they get. Normal of course, but still a hand-wringing experience for us oldsters who have "been there." The only major difference, however, between my generation of parents and those from the past may be the fact that now many more moms and dads are "all up in their kids' business." Not - I think - a good thing.

So, regardless of how techno-connected our kids are, maybe they haven't really changed too much. Perhaps it's us parents who are struggling to honor our children's privacy in this new Digital Age. I'm not suggesting they be allowed to frolic across the computer landscape completely unsupervised. That would be irresponsible. But, like diaries and journals of old, social media can be a venue for young adults to express themselves, hopefully with a modicum of self-control they learned from our example (fingers crossed).

Which brings me to a temporary (albeit minor) privacy dilemma I'm facing. My son has been waiting for an acceptance letter from his first college of choice he wants to attend. Coincidentally, his email is synced to my iPad, meaning that I receive his email notifications. Guess what I received yesterday, the same day he left for Germany on a school trip with classmates? Yup, an email from that same university notifying him in a link whether or not he will be spending at least the next four years of his life in suburban Chicago.

No, I haven't opened the link (yet). I will respect his privacy (I should, right?). I'm not going to deny him (I think) the pleasure of discovery in this first big moment of the next chapter in his life (even if it means waiting until he returns to the States to find out - ten whole days from now!). But boy do I want to.

Guess I better put my money where my mouth is . . . . dammit.