Isn’t it a little too short, asked the mother hesitantly. We were at Zara, the mecca of fast fashion. I was mooching around, looking for a skirt I had seen on the website some days earlier. The mother was hovering outside the trial room, from where the 20-something daughter had just emerged in a fitted tee and shorts that ended long before her thighs began. I caught sight of the daughter’s expression, and quickly moved away. Even without being a meteorologist, I could sense the storm coming on.
As it turned out, I didn’t escape the storm. Not quite. You see, not having got the skirt I wanted, I marched to my favourite sushi place to feed my feeling of deprivation with California rolls. The restaurant was packed, but I managed a single seater near a large family. I was just starting to relax when the young man closest to me exploded. “Just stop Mom. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need your constant meddling,” he snapped.
I didn’t even need to look around to know what was happening. I’d been in that position so often myself. In the position of the meddling mother, I mean.
Just as we parents begin patting ourselves on the back for surviving our offspring’s growing up years, there comes the most difficult phase of all: adulthood. It’s a whole new level of learning, where our parental know-how is just as effective as a bucket with a hole.
First comes the realisation that the little beings we fed and washed have morphed into adults. Ones who want to make their own decisions and call their own shots. And we can’t do anything about it even if we think those decisions are crazy.
If my son calls to say he’s chucked up his job at BCG and is moving to Bir to become a paragliding instructor, I can’t shriek and shout or blackmail him with reminders of all that I did so that he could get that consulting job. I also can’t make daily “Are you sure about this, sweetie?” calls or send him articles about the difficulty of getting well-paid jobs in today’s economy or stats about paragliding accidents.
Instead, I have to be patient, encouraging and supportive of his decision. Because that is the parent’s designated role in their adult children’s lives. The CEO is dead; long live the CSO, or chief supportive officer. If we are mortified, terrified or upset at the turn of events, no one but us is supposed to know.
There’s also the communication conundrum. We may text, “Everything okay, darling?” and get back a ‘K’ in response. Now it’s up to us to figure out whether K means “Yes, life is grand!” or “Life sucks.” You may send some ‘big news’ to your daughter, imagining that she will call back pronto for a long chat on the subject; but get only radio silence.
Learn to accept it. We may expect our grown children to want to know everything that’s going on with us. But the fact is they have their own lives to deal with; their own priorities. At the very moment that you sent your girl a message about the scandal that has hit the family, she may have been reeling from an argument with her boss at work or trying to fix the plumbing at home. You don’t know everything that’s happening in her life.
I’m not advocating total detachment for parents of adult children. But if we’re to keep good relations with them and maintain our sanity, four ground rules help:
· Do not offer unsolicited advice
· Respect their time
· Master the art of the poker face
· Get a hobby.
PS: I haven’t mastered them all yet, but I’m trying.