The Fine Art of Letting Go

Parents who hover risk crippling their children's fledgling sense of self-sufficiency. Missa Murry Eaton, an assistant professor at Penn State University Shenango who studies parent-child relationships, says she's seen a number of parents who think it's OK to call their freshman sons or daughters early in the morning to make sure they wake up or check in late at night to see if they're studying. "They don't allow their children to deal with the consequences of their decisions," says Eaton. "So when a decision goes badly, they just fix it." Children and young adults build up confidence by tackling things that are hard, says Damon. "When they do succeed, they earn real self-esteem."

In fact, it's not the number of e-mails or phone calls that really matter, but the content of the connection. Here, boomers run into trouble. Chatting about the weather or politics is one thing; micromanaging decisions about courses or majors is quite another. But many parents think that economic pressures compel them to intervene. Sending a child to college these days is a huge financial commitment, more than $40,000 a year at elite private schools. For a lot of parents, that means substantial sacrifices like taking out a second mortgage or cutting into retirement savings. "Parents feel this is an economic investment, and they want that investment to pay off," says Hofer.

What's helpful and what's hovering? At Washington University in St. Louis, Karen Coburn, the assistant vice chancellor for students, says helping parents understand the challenges their students will face is a major part of her job. One important lesson: "No one was ever happy all the time between 18 and 22, and your kids aren't going to be, either." She tells parents to take tearful calls in stride. Walking across campus, she often hears students on the phone with a parent, complaining about a cold or a bad grade. "Then I see them click off the phone and go running over to a friend and say, 'Hi, how are you? Things are great!' And I think of those poor parents, sitting in their offices."

As graduation approaches, there's even more pressure on college career offices and prospective employers. "We have parents calling us to ask why little Johnny wasn't accepted to interview at Goldman," says Jennifer Floren, CEO of experience.com, a Web site that connects 3,800 universities with employers. "They're demanding passwords so they can get into the student's account. It's just bizarre." In an experience.com survey of career-center offices, respondents said parents were substantially more involved than even five years ago and that this trend cut across all regions of the country and all incomes.

Parents worry that their kids will never get jobs and end up home after graduation, living in the basement. It's not an unreasonable fear. Many kids graduate with debt from student loans, which makes it difficult to find affordable housing even if they do find work. According to the 2000 Census, 10.5 percent of Americans 25 to 34 were living in their parents' houses, compared with 8 percent in 1970, the low point for young adults moving home.

It takes will power to hold back. Rosalie Fuller knew what she had to do when her oldest son, Brinson, 20, left for Appalachian State University. "I'm trying very hard to force them to leave the nest," she says. Fuller, 48, who lives in New Bern, N.C., and her husband, Walt, 53, a timber buyer for Weyerhaeuser, have agreed to pay for Brinson's tuition, room and board, but he is supposed to pay for fraternity dues, car insurance and general expenses. In the middle of sophomore year, Brinson ran out of cash and the Fullers decided to take over his car-insurance payments but nothing else. Then his grades took a plunge—all C's and D's. The reason: too much partying and not enough studying. In an e-mail, Rosalie told him how many hours a week she spent working for a company that sells aviation fuel in order for him to go to college. "I told him that I would never again pay for a semester like this." Brinson got the message. He wrote her back a three-page mission statement laying out his plan of action to get better grades. "First and foremost," he wrote, "I will attend every class." Brinson followed up on his promise—his grades are up—and he's leaning toward an accounting major.