She Made Me Want To Rip Out My Uterus And Throw It In The Ocean June 18, 2008

For as long as I can remember, I knew that, whatever I did as a career, it would involve helping people. As a latchkey kid of a drug-addicted single parent, I found myself inspired by exaggerated docudramas like Stand and Deliver, Lean on Me, and Dangerous Minds. I could picture myself walking into a classroom with a calculator, a bat, and my sassy jeans to motivate students to live up tho their potentials. Preferably without anyone getting shot, pregnant, or jumped into a gang. College became easier for me once I understood how to maneuver within the university. Advisors kept me from dropping out of school and, once I realized they got paid to help me, I found my place in the professional world. Never mind that there’s no money in it, I just wanted to help students bridge the transition from perceived independence to actual independence.

My education prepared me for diverse student populations, student development, counseling, budgeting, and continued pursuit of professional knowledge. What it did not prepare me for was this new breed of parent. The dad that calls once a week to see how his son did on his last test. Or the mom that calls twice a day to remind me how unfair it is that her freshman daughter can’t register for the art history class because the seats are taken up by seniors. The brother who is worried that his sister’s 2.7 grade point average won’t get her into medical school and asks me to call her to check in. WTF?!?

I must admit that part of my discomfort with this stems from the fact that this was just not my experience in my family. Although they helped pay for part of my education, in the end, I was responsible for what happened while I was in school. If I got a grade I didn’t think I deserved, my father told me to talk to the professor. If I thought a class was hard, my uncle encouraged me to go to the campus tutoring center. If my roommate’s boyfriend slept over too often, my grandmother told me to follow up with my resident advisor. For the life of me, I can’t imagine relying on my family to run interference in any of these situations. Besides it making me look like a freaking weak baby, I wouldn’t have learned anything. I wouldn’t have learned how to fight my own battles. Ever.

As the parents I work with were becoming increasingly shady, I thought it was me. I thought I was becoming to cynical and jaded and doubted my aptitude for providing service. Then I ran across this:

As an executive recruiter for health care consultancy Stockamp and Associates, Kate Carson is used to talking to plenty of job applicants. What she’s not used to is talking to their parents. But that’s exactly what she’s doing more of these days. Recently she received a call from the mother of a 24-year-old graduate student who wanted to know why her daughter didn’t receive a job offer with the Oregon-based company. “I was a little taken aback,” says Carson. And then there was another call from the parent of a college undergad who called Carson to let her know that her daughter was sick and wouldn’t be able to make her scheduled job interview. (Rest of article)

Ha, ha, bitches! It’s not me. It’s sooo you!!

Believe me, I get that every generation attempts to provide their children with resources and opportunities that they themselves did not benefit from. Children of emotionally unavailable parents promise to tell their kids they love them every day. Those who grew up without parental involvement vow to know everything about their kids. If you subsisted on processed salami lunches, you made sure your kids had fresh deli-cut turkey. You walked to school uphill in the snow wearing shoes made of used tires while carrying your siblings on your backZ Then your kids would live in a flat suburban neighborhood and you would drive them to school in your SUV with TVs in the headrest while they kicked you with the newest $250 sneakers Shaquille O’Neal told you they had to wear. I get it.

What I don’t get are parents who justify their lack of tact, courtesy, and manners as parental advocacy. You can advocate for your kid without being an asshole. I promise.

Parents I interact with run the gamut from inspiring to insipid. I am more than happy to spend an hour on the phone with a dad who does not understand how a university works, what the heck a “credit”, and why some weird campus policies exist. I’m even more than happy to listen a frustrated parent whose student has flunked out of the first semester and is now on probation. Or the mom that is worried about her merit scholar who has just flunked all his classes. My job, my passion, is to help you make confusing things less confusing. You know why? Because parents who are not confused produce educated children who come into my office with researched, intelligent, and genuine questions.

But the “get me your manager” school of parenting is insane. Mainly because you pass that crap on to your kids. Yes, going to college is expensive. Yes, you are a consumer and deserve outstanding service. No, you do not pay my salary. If you looked at how much money the university generates, I receive less than 1/1,000,000 of that cash. And I have a stinking master’s degree. You want to yell at someone making some real dough, contact the football coach. I’d be happy to give you his number.

Sometimes college students are distracted. The absence of constant observations and reminders is overly tempting. Going to class is something they do to meet new people, cure hangovers, or hide from the one night stand who’s still snoozing in their beds. Sometimes they don’t value the time and money, much like their parents did, which is explains why the parents are trying so desperately to instill this appreciation in their kids. But here’s the thing folks–that shit has to be ingrained in little Byron Mitchell McDermott the IV BEFORE you send him to school. I cannot magically make your kid an independent thinker who reads French philosophy and is fluent in Latin if you have employed the “I will yell at the teacher until his grades are raised” tactic his entire life. Or if you’ve been writing his papers. Or have not run around with a safety net so he never learns that action=consequence. Rather, inaction= consequence.

As far as I’m concerned, this should be the foundation of every parenting style: “A measure of a man is not what he gets from his ancestors, but what he leaves his descendents.” Leave your children to be capable. Teach them consequences. Save them when they are in trouble, not when they are going to be uncomfortable. Be the parent, not the buddy. Teach them to respect authority. When authority needs to be questioned, that it is done intelligently and not with a tantrum.