Librarian April Cushing is head of Adult and Information Services at the Morrill Memorial Library. Read her column published in the January 21, 2016 issue of the Norwood Transcript Bulletin.
You can tell a lot about a person by her basement. I’ve spent more time than usual below street-level lately, between putting away Christmas accoutrements and re-homing clutter in preparation for a proper house-cleaning. My basement has been filling up faster than a debutante’s dance card. As I made my way through the maze it struck me how much of the stuff belongs to my kids. I’m not talking about the remnants from childhood. I’m referring to the clothing, kitchenware, artwork, books, bikes, bedding, wedding miscellany and giant golf mat they left behind when they took off. And there’s the rub: I don’t mind having their belongings under my roof; I’d just rather have them.
I’m struggling with the fact that three of my four daughters now live far away, and probably getting farther. My youngest, in New York City, plans to study overseas, my 30-year-old recently moved back to London, and the newlyweds just drove 3,000 miles in the opposite direction to begin married life in San Francisco. I’m grateful to have one child who promises to stay put. The peripatetic nature of my progeny is particularly difficult for this Norwood resident whose neighbors all seem to live within shouting distance of their kin. Sure, I’m envious.
I left Long Island at 18 to attend college in Connecticut, transferred to a school in upstate New York, and never looked back. At least I never considered calling it home again. I wonder if I’d had a closer relationship with my parents whether I might have stuck around. While I realize this isn’t a universal truth, I equate grown children moving far afield with a desire to establish a solid distance, physical and emotional, from the mothership. In other words, I’m trying not to take this personally. The empty (and in my case rapidly-receding) nest and its close cousin—parenting an adult child—have been widely reported in the literature. Since I now seem to be obsessed with both, I decided to do a little reporting of my own.
I began by querying my twenty- and thirtysomething colleagues, who get along with their parents and whose opinions I respect. How do they manage it, and what advice might they have for adult children or their parents who wish to stay connected without driving each other crazy? One emphasized that a little separation goes a long way. I believe her exact words were, “Don’t live in your parents’ basement.” My childhood best friend, in fact, ended up doing just that with her husband and two kids. We lost touch so I don’t know how that worked out for her, but it WAS a cool basement.
My young colleague had some advice for us empty-nesters as well: get a life. Pursue a career, volunteer work, hobbies, travel, a life of crime, whatever, but make sure it doesn’t revolve around the children or the grandchildren. And if you do insist on relocating near one of your kids, she added, make sure it’s the one you like best, i.e. the one most likely to take care of you in your old age. The trick there, I believe, is to avoid annoying them so much that they still actually care what happens to you when your roles become reversed.
My older coworkers also weighed in. When I asked a grandmother of two if she’d want to live next-door to her son’s family she replied, “Absolutely not. I might see something and say more than I should. But I wouldn’t mind if they lived closer.” Another grandmother is glad her grown children are nearby but says she has learned when to keep her mouth shut. A staff member with two daughters in their twenties disagreed. “Why shouldn’t I give them my opinion? I have a lot more life experience than they have. Besides, they know I do it out of love.”
To supplement my coworkers’ sage advice I consulted the library’s holdings on the subject. I found three books particularly absorbing. A colleague and recent mother herself lent me “Walking on Eggshells, or Navigating the Delicate Relationship Between Adult Children and Parents” by Jane Isay. I read it cover to cover. Having interviewed dozens of people ages 24 to 70, Isay offers real-life stories and hard-won wisdom for both generations grappling with how to redefine the parent-child connection as individual needs for closeness and independence evolve.
On the subject of parental advice, the author is firm: “They don’t want it. They don’t hear it. They resent it. Don’t give it.” I get it. Isay observes that grown children may ask for advice but then ignore it. They’ll call for comfort, then get off the phone all too fast. As it happens, I can personally attest to both these truisms.
One of my daughters asked what she should do about a date she was dreading. After much discussion I told her I thought she should cancel it, and felt I made a compelling case. Later I asked how “the stalker” reacted when she backed out. “Oh, I went on the date,” she told me. “He’s actually a really nice guy.”
It’s a joke among the sisters that it’s virtually impossible to end a phone call with me. Any attempt to wind up a conversation, apparently, results in the immediate introduction of an entirely new topic on my part. “Did I tell you what Mrs. So and So said the other day?” Or “Did you know that (insert name of high school/college classmate here) is getting married/getting divorced/having a baby/buying a house in Norwood?” Pathetic, I know. Eliminating this embarrassing behavior is one of my resolutions for the new year. All things being equal, I’d prefer to be the kind of mother my children don’t dread calling.
Not everyone, unfortunately, has had the benefit of Ms. Isay’s wisdom. I’m fairly certain my mother never met an eggshell she didn’t tread on. When the kids were little, whenever she witnessed me or my former husband admonishing one of them she would sternly repeat the reprimand. I’m not sure this form of dual discipline had much effect on the girls’ behavior but it sure bugged the heck out of me.
Another book I really enjoyed is “The Empty Nest” by Karen Stabiner, in which 31 parents “tell the truth about relationships, love, and freedom after the kids fly the coop.” These beautifully written, moving, often humorous essays by such renowned writers as Anna Quindlen, Charles McGrath, and Ellen Goodman are at once reassuring and eye-opening.
I may be making some slight progress in learning to let go. In her Christmas card my daughter in England wrote, “Thanks for being not only a great mom but a great friend. I really love confiding in you.” In a late-night text last week, my daughter in California admitted she was missing home. There’s strong evidence to suggest she misses the dog more than anyone, but I understood. I wanted to tell her she could always come home. Instead, I texted back that I was proud of her for embarking on a totally new life in an unfamiliar city, and for being adventurous and open to new possibilities. And although I miss her as much as ever, I actually meant it.
My final must-read recommendation, edited by Ann Imig, is “Listen to Your Mother,” a series of funny, memorable, and refreshingly irreverent essays about all aspects of modern-day motherhood. “But don’t take MY word for it,” as LeVar Burton used to say on “Reading Rainbow.” Come to the library and check them out for yourself.
