As the kids headed back to school last week, I found myself fast-forwarding a decade to a time when my girls were off to university or tree planting or some trek across far flung countries. I became giddy with excitement for the incredible adventures ahead for them.
The vision was spurred by a shoebox filled with photos from university, when my sister and I, still in our teens, took a side trip away from family to Munich and spent days exploring the city, taking in art and architecture, and learning important key phrases, such as “Eine Weisse, bitte,” and “nochmal.”
And then later that same day, I read a story online about millennials not leaving home… ever. Thirty-somethings flopped on the couch, eating their parents out of house and home, gaming to their hearts content, and in no way contributing to the household.
Apparently it’s an epidemic, and we have to ask ourselves: Why is this happening?
If you look back at your own youth, it’s probably not tough to conjure examples of “failure.” Whether it was a test you didn’t pass, a team you didn’t make, a job you didn’t get – or better yet, one you got but were fired from – we can all think of times when we tried to do something and it didn’t quite turn out the way we hoped.
That failure, as painful as it was, served a purpose. You learned from it. It’s what gave you pause, made you take stock, and either pointed you in a different direction or gave you the resolve to try harder next time. It was just a part of life.
Parents today aren’t allowing their children to stumble, let alone fail.
If I was late for work at Pizza Hut, where I slung pizza and bottomless jugs of pop, my parents didn’t jump in the car to drive me and “save me” from the consequences. I hoofed it down there as quickly as I could. I arrived sweaty and gasping for breath in my polyester uniform. (Let’s be honest, everyone was sweaty in that uniform; I hardly stood out. I trust that workers’ rights have improved since then.)
If I failed a test or got a poor mark on an essay, they didn’t book an appointment with the teacher to argue my case. Instead, they encouraged me to take that on.
Today, universities have staff dedicated to dealing with helicopter parents, the ones who show up for the entire first week of school prepared to camp on their son or daughter’s dorm floor if they can get away with it. Parents who call the dean and complain about marks. Parents who log into university online accounts and manage their adult child’s lives.
I’m guessing these are the same parents who are attending job interviews with their 20-somethings as well.
The remarkable thing is they aren’t uncommon. Employers will tell you that teenagers will come in with mom or dad looking for employment, that these well-intentioned parents will try to negotiate hours and pay for their child.
Their hearts are in the right place, but their heads are not.
Can you imagine never knowing the value of a hard-earned grade? Of a credit card bill that was paid entirely with your own money, month after month? The sense of competence that one develops over the years of being able to count on oneself in tough times? The satisfaction of knowing that if worse comes to worst, you’ll still be able to make your rent – even if that means working an extra job and proving yourself reliable and resilient?
Why would any parent want to take that away from their child?
By taking away the sting of small failure, we eradicate the possibility of self-reliance, self-assurance and above all, independence.
And the pleasure of learning how to order your own beer – once you’re legally able, of course – in a foreign language, in a foreign country, with your own foreign currency.
