Parenting Grown Children: What Dr. Spock Forgot to Tell Us

Little Emperors: Complaints Chinese parents have about their grown children. It may sound familiar.

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We've read a lot about our helicoptered kids. They're the one who, as young adults, have gotten used to their parents overseeing life's key decisions. Their parents have been spotted going on job interviews with them and even calling their bosses to complain when they believe their child has been treated unfairly in the work place.

We've also got our entitled young--and older--adults who think the world, to say nothing of their parents, should bend to their needs. These are the kids who expect--and are not particularly gracious about receiving--a parental allowance, even though some of them are grown up with children of their own. There are those who call this a "brat allowance."

Well, small world: Chinese parents have, according to a professor at China's Renmin University, "birthed a generation of freeloaders who feel entitled to leech off their own parents."

China's one-child policy is partly to blame, professor Zhang Ming writes. As he details his observations about these "Little Emperors,**" his commentary begins to sound familiar.

"Even after helping them find jobs and planning their whole lives out for them, a generation of so-called helicopter parents still feels compelled to help their kids buy a house. Lucky are those whose kids only ask for help with the deposit and don’t expect their parents to help them make their monthly mortgage payments, too."

In our country, recent surveys find that roughly one-third of Millennials hoping to buy a house will be relying on a loan/gift from a parent, grandparent or other relative to help with some or all of the downpayment.  There's been less follow-up on how many of us continue to help with the monthly mortgage payment.

Zhang Ming has more to report. When parents don't come up with the cash fast enough, the grumblings of Chinese adults

"are a fixture of social media feeds, where they whine about their parents having the temerity to suddenly go on a trip or moan about their in-laws playing mahjong instead of giving that money to their grandkids instead."

Evidently, it's woe unto the grandparents as well.

"Many grown children remain reliant on their parents for financial assistance even after they’ve had kids of their own, thereby perpetuating the cycle of freeloading into a third generation — except the grandkids don’t turn to their own parents for help. Instead, both generations sponge off their grandparents together."

 It wasn't always so. Zhang Ming says he asked many parents of these Little Emperors whether they had turned to their parents for help and support. Just like many of us tell our children or friends, those parents tell Zhang they never asked their parents for anything, not even "for a single yuan" and then, like many of us, they reel off the the challenges they overcame to get where they are today, including supporting their parents— not the other way around.

 Zhang Ming's conclusion about what he calls China's "kidult" problem:

China’s young people are paying the price of the country’s rapid urbanization drive. The high costs of migrating and living in cities have drawn multiple generations into the financial orbit of their youngest relatives, exacerbating a psychological disconnect between what is appropriate to demand from one’s elders and what is appropriate to give. The resulting emotional tug-of-war often does more harm than good.  But these reasons do not begin to explain the degree to which parents are expected to support their kids, however, or how kids came to feel so entitled to their parents’ money in the first place.

 **‘Little Emperors‘ is a name that refers to only children in China after the one-child policy was implemented. Attributed most frequently to increased spending power within the family unit and the parents’ desire for their child to experience the benefits they were denied, the syndrome results from the children’s sole command of the attention of their parents and grandparents.

 

Bank of Mom and Dad: What to do and how to do it when it's time to close the helping hand

 

Some of us tap into our retirement accounts or we delay retirement: We need the money to keep up with the relentless press of supporting our grown kids. Or grandkids. It may not be full support--just help with the rent, the cell phone bill or car payments. Sometimes it's a monthly stipend to defray their cost of living. For one of my friends, it was to pay for a major expense--the cost of a surrogate mother so a daughter could start a family. (The ensuing twins, priceless.) Another couple played venture capitalist and put money into their son's daring new business--which has since attracted real-life, Silicon Valley venture capitalists.

Whatever it is we're doing--and with whatever rationale we have for doing it--there comes a time when we want to or have to close the bank of mom and dad. The tipping point is different for every family; let us not judge our neighbor.

That said, when Closing Time comes, here are some tips from financial experts on how to tighten the fiduciary fist.

Set boundaries: One end of that boundary is to Just Say No. Make it clear that you will not provide assistance anymore. But if that isn't going to work for you--if it's too harsh or doesn't fit your situation--set financial boundaries, such as how long this will continue and how much cash will be involved. In some situations, you're doing yourself and your kin a favor. When support continues into a grown child's 30s and 40s, you may be an enabler: preventing your kids or grandkids from becoming independent and living within their means.

Make it legal: If you decide to be the mortgage banker for your grown child's home purchase, act like a bank. Have a lawyer draw up a contract  complete with dates when payments are due. Of course, you don't have to be the banker--for a mortgage or other large loan. You can walk your grown child into a bank--and even co-sign the loan (if you're sure you don't need to be paid back). That way, the bank is the debt collector, not you. Financial experts note that people are less likely to repay family members than they are a bank. Many of us do help out with the first-home down payment--not because are kids have been spendthrifts but because of student debt. Student loan debt seems to be the biggest obstacle standing in the way of young people buying their own home.

Use it to educate: However much money you decide you can afford to shower on your kin--a grown child or a grandchild--it should be a gift with no strings attached. Yes, they may squander it, but even grown children need to fall down and scrape their knees. Gifting them money that they may use unwisely is better than using your credit card to bail them out.

Get a second opinion: If you're lending money for a new or on-going business, don't limit yourself to your and your child's take on the business plan. Get an opinion from someone not directly involved in the business. And agree to specific terms--how much and when it will be paid back (if you hope to be paid back).

 

 

 

 

The Book Beat: What we want to know about the gifts we give our Grand kids.

The complaint was about whether a book given as a birthday present to a young reader had been properly read and appreciated. The complainant, writing to Philip Galanes (NYTimes, Social Qs) was an aunt who had given her niece a copy of a book that had been a childhood favorite of hers. But the niece showed no sign of having read it. The letter writer asked whether or not she should call this slight to the attention of the young reader's parents.

Many of us--especially those of us who are long-distance grandparents--are wandering in the same wilderness as the letter-writing aunt. Not only do we want to know the book we sent was received (and be properly thanked for it) but also that it is now a beloved favorite of the recipient. Actually, some of us are like me and we want more: We'd like to talk about the book with our Grand on Skype or FaceTime or even by text. A book--its plot, its characters, its setting--can be a helpful conversation starter, especially when we live far from our children and are out of the loop of their daily lives. It can be a chance to bond over a mutual love. Or, equally delightful, agree to disagree.

No surprise to report that Galanes does not condone pressuring parents to pressure the child to read the birthday-present book. Let me use his exact words:

"There's a difference between a book report and a birthday present: Your niece may read the book when she likes, but she's not required to....We all have our childhood favorites, but I'd let this one slide. Let your niece discover the book in her own time."

Galanes knows whereof he speaks. And yet I understand the aunt's disappointment. I, too, have sent books to various Grands, and now that some of them are young teens, the range of favorites I want to share with them has expanded exponentially. I send the book. I hear no more. When I go visit, sometimes I tell them why I chose a particular set of books--what it was about them that I found so intriguing. But if I may pat myself on the back (and gain some Galanes approval points)--I don't go any further than that. They'll either find time to read the books or they won't. Maybe two years from now they'll pick one up. Maybe they'll even text with a belated thank you for introducing them to the writer or the story.

Maybe they will. More likely they won't. But they have the books, they came with my imprimatur. That'll have to do.

 

 

March for Our Lives: Being there to support kids and grandkids in their cause.

 

One of the many things I loved about parenting when my kids were young and living with us was the opening up of new universes based on interests my kids developed. If they got involved in gymnastics--as my daughter did--it was up to us to get her to practices, cheer her on at meets and shuttle her to the orthopedist when the injuries occurred. But we also learned a whole lot about the world of competitive gymnastics. (Fortunately, this was well before the evils of sexual abuse at the elite level surfaced.) It was a fascinating world we never would have known about if our daughter hadn't had her heart set on the Olympics--a desire that faded when she turned thirteen and found she preferred the piano.

I thought back to those days when Paterfamilias (above) and I Metro-ed to Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington D.C. to rally for gun control. We were one of the 800,000. We believe fervently in the need to get military weapons off the streets, out of homes and far, far away from schools. But we also felt we were there on behalf of our grandkids--none of whom live in the Washington area.

They were equally--if not more--involved in the issue. They protested and gathered in their own cities with their friends. They didn't need us to show them the way, but we felt we were there for them--supporting them in a cause that effects them on a visceral and immediate level. #EnoughIsEnough.

Plus we got them tee shirts. That's also what grandparents do.

                

 

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Thoughts on Being Thanked: Pen on paper or cellphone text, often or is once enough?

Some of us don't like our kids or grandkids to thank us via email or text. We'd like our gifts acknowledged the old-fashioned way: with a handwritten note. There's something polite and etiquette-right about pen (or crayon) set on paper--and the time it takes to do so. When young grandchildren embroider those notes with their very own drawings (see above), we're in orbit. But we live in a digital world. Our older grandkids and grown kids are happier using their thumbs to let us know they appreciate a gift we've sent. They're more likely to send a note--full of their immediate enthusiasm--if they can pick up their smartphone and tap it out. It's up to us to decide how "traditional" a reply we're willing to accept. Insistence on tradition may come with a cost--a delay of thanks or a less spontaneous response.

Whether or not we say Yes to the Text, some of us can't be thanked often enough. Sometimes we ask how, say, a grandchild enjoyed a book we sent. And we may ask several times, even though we've already gotten an answer. One grannie defends her practice of asking for thank yous over and over again, saying, "Hearing that what we do is appreciated and liked brings a smile to my face."

That said, the constant "request" for a thank you can be annoying, even irritating, to the receivers of those gifts--not so much the little grandkids but the parents, aka our grown children.

When a reader posed a question along these lines to Carolyn Hax ("We always thank her for gifts, and these comments feel like she's asking for thank-yous over and over again"), Hax offered several ways for the grown child to deal politely with the recurring queries from her mother about a gift. (One approach: deflect the query with a question, such as "Oh, did you not get our thank-you note?")

But Hax wasn't the only one to respond to the issue. Several of her readers did, addressing not so much the grownchild's question as the grandparent's need for the reassurance that multiple thank-yous bring.  One reader suggested that if the grownkids take repeated inquiries as pressure for repeated acknowledgements of your gifts, "then tell your kids you ask these follow up questions because it makes you so happy to bring the grandkids happiness. Say that's all you mean by it and hope you aren't misconstrued."

There's also this: If you've received a thank you--by phone call, email, text or in-person hug--enjoy the expression of enthusiasm and bask in the satisfaction of it. The additional pleasure in hearing a thank you again and again may not be worth the annoyance factor.

(Link to Hax column:Carolyn Hax: I can never thank you enough. No, seriously, it’s become a problem. 

Grandparenting: Building a special tie with a grandchild

 


When she was four, my youngest grandchild delighted in my tai chi and yoga demonstrations. I would show her how in Tai Chi we "embrace the moon" and "stroke the wild horse's mane" then we would move on to a yoga flow of mountain to tree to falling star poses--at which point she and I would fall over and laugh. She's nine now, and as her older brother and sister concentrate their physical efforts on soccer, soccer and soccer, she has become my yoga buddy.

Whenever I come for a visit--she lives in Albany; we live in Maryland--we head for the basement to practice yoga. We make our way through cat and down dog, the warrior poses and triangle. We try eagle and cobra. But this is all prelude for her:  she has her eye on shoulder stand--with an assist. I hold her up by her ankles, give her back a support with my shin and slowly ease back a smidgen of the assist. Each visit she's just a little stronger, a little more able to use her abs and arms to "hold it" on her own--even if it's just for a second or two. She loves to hear me tell her how much progress she's making with shoulder stand.

There's a special grace in sharing yoga with her. It's a way to do something special together --something no one else in her family can usurp or do better than she can (as is the way with older siblings). This last visit over Thanksgiving, she seemed to feel the same way about our yoga tie. As her grandpa and I were leaving to catch our airplane, she and I had our usual goodbye hug. I mentioned how much fun she seemed to have had on Thanksgiving day when she ran all over the house playing nerf gun shootout with her uncle. "Yes," she admitted, that had been a highlight. Then she whispered, "also the yoga."

Every morning when I roll out my yoga mat, I smile at her three little words and am warmed by my yoga buddy.

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Family Togetherness: Holiday rules and remembrance

When our son got married, he and his bride set down a holiday marker: Thanksgiving with his parents in Washington; Christmas with her's in Maine. 

Several years have passed. Family growth has marked the passage of time. Thanksgiving is still "ours"--and includes, of course, our daughter and her family. But the hosting mantle has passed to our son and daughter-in-law. It no longer made sense for our son's family of five and our daughter's family of three to board overcrowded holiday flights for a trip to ye olde homestead. Now our daughter drives three hours to her brothers house and we take on the burden of flying there.

I have no complaints. "The old order changeth yielding place to new." Tennyson may not have had parental roles in mind but that's part of what parenting grown children is all about. Our grown kids edge their way into our place on stage. We're no longer the actors in charge.

In the morning after this year's family feast, I catalogued what I miss about the days when Paterfamilias and I ruled the roost and hosted the holiday.

The mix of family with Best Friends. I cooked the turkey and pies; our friends brought the sides. It halved the workload and gave them and us the chance to catch up with each other's grown children and grands.

The scent of the house from the rush of cooking and baking.

Setting the table with my mother's best dishes and my mother-in-law's silverware: a memorable re-use of their treasures.

The morning-after sound of our grandkids having breakfast in the kitchen while paterfamilias and I lolled abed upstairs.

The turkey carcass: all mine to pick at after our kids and the bulk of turkey leftovers have left the building.

I also remember the upside to "yielding place to new." Here's what I don't miss.

Stocking the fridge and pantry for all the other meals weekend guests will need, which includes remembering individual preferences such as chunky peanut butter, soy milk (or was it almond his year?) and apricot jam.

Figuring out what to do the year we forgot to put the Tofurkey (three vegeterians are amongst us) in the oven. Ditto for the year when the turkey was grossly undercooked.

Dismantling the blow-up beds when the weekend visit is over.

Clearing out the never-will-be-eaten leftovers from the refrigerator.

The sudden silence in the house after the grown kids and their families leave for home.

 

 

 

 

Holidays with Grown Children: The good, better and stress of family togetherness

            

 

Thanksgiving is a family get-together favorite--for the most part.

It's easy because there are no gifts, decorations or other "extras" to drive everyone to hyperventilate.

It's fun because it's a  gathering of several generations of family under one roof--plus the occasional "orphan" or two, which usually brightens the conversation.

It's simple because the meal is pre-ordained. In our family, we've settled into a routine of who will do what--especially the vegan variations. (Shout out to Whole Foods for its very edible vegan fruit pies and pumpkin pie.)

That said, Thanksgiving isn't all that stress free, especially for the parents of the grown children and the grandparents of their children. When the holiday means three to four days at the home of one of one's grown children--when the mantle of hosting has passed to the next generation--there can be a lot of uncomfortable "down time."

We who provide extra helping hands in the kitchen (the stuffing/dressing is my domain) do not feel it as much as those not drawn to kitchen duties. This was especially true this year when one of the Grands in whose home Thanksgiving now takes place turned 16 and was the very proud possessor of a brand-new driver's license. He was Volunteer #1 for any and all errands and store pick-ups. That meant Paterfamilias, who usually broke up the "down" time by running errands, was out of a job. Not fired so much as by-passed.

"Down" time aside, when our grown children and their spouses get together--our children don't live near each other or us--there is a lot of reconnecting. We see each of our grown children and their children several times during the year, but our grown children have fewer face-to-faces with each other. Long and short of it: We're a bit of a fifth wheel at the reunion. It is so wonderful to have both our children and all our grands together under one roof for at least 24 hours, but it is also a battle to feel relevant and be heard.

We should remember--though it's hard to reconcile ourselves to--Lao Tze's philosophic advice, as quoted in my previous post.

Your silence is as beautiful as the Harvest moon.

In another bit of poetic advice ("for the second half of life"), Lao Tze says this (as re-interpreted by William Martin in The Sage's Tao Te Ching):

Whatever your losses,

hope and happiness can be yours.

Act each day with compassion

for yourself and others.

Let each inhalation bring you peace

and each exhalation dispel your fears.

 

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Leaving a Legacy: Sharing our values and history with our grown kids and grandkids.

 

Here is my legacy mantra. I hereby leave my grown kids and grand kids a legacy in three parts: Material goods. A sense of  my values and life experiences. Clean closets.

I've blogged at length about the clean closet thing--it came to a head when we downsized for a move from our rambling suburban house to a storage-challenged urban apartment. When spirits flagged over the sorting and dumping, I reminded myself that this was part of my gift to my kids: They wouldn't have to clear 50 years of memorabilia that had been stuffed onto shelves and into bins and file cabinets.

Now I'm working on the middle part: values and my life experiences. What kick-started me was a recent event--seemingly minor--in our family's life. This Spring, Paterfamilias forwarded a link to his grandkids of excerpts from an interview between PF and an historian from the Library of Congress.  The historian was putting together a history of how Congress worked--how legislation was actually passed, what compromises were made, how power was leveraged.

PF had worked for California Congressman John Moss and several congressional committees in the 1970s and 1980s--the fruitful years when Congress passed enduring legislation that has impacted our lives in a good way. (Like product safety, car safety, investor safety)  The interview was about the legislative process but the historian also delved into PF's childhood--he even had a news clip from PF's radio appearance as a pre-teen whiz kid. Now, excerpts from the interview were being posted on the Library's website and that's the link PF sent his two grown children and their teenage kids-- in the hope that they would read it, if not now at least some day.

So, in effect, without lifting a pen or his typing fingers, without making a recording or pasting photos in a scrapbook, PF has his legacy: a document about his life's work and how that work reflects his values. The teen grands didn't say much about it, beyond a promise to read it. Someday.

Then in June, he mentioned his work for the Congress to one of those teens who was wrapping up a semester on 20th century American history. She asked some relevant questions but that was as far as things went. She was, after all, 14 years old and we all know how difficult it is to keep a teen's attention, to wean them from Instagram, texting and game-playing on their phones.  But then, weeks later, when she was on the West Coast for the summer with her parents and not much to do, she read the interview and started texting PF about subjects the piqued her interest. What did he know about Ronald Reagan and the air controllers strike? He called her to discuss. Then came another text: What did he know about gerrymandering? Another chat appointment.

This was an unexpected connection. It is not easy to set up lines of communication with our teen grands. They are moving away from the home as the center of their universe--pushing back their parents and looking for independence. To have one of his Grands turn to him as an expert--as a reliable source--was thrilling.

It was also a reminder of how much impact our past can have on our Grands. But they have to know about it--in some form or other that they can digest at their own pace. I'm picking up my pen.

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Vacationing with Grown Kids: The comforts and discomforts of togetherness

There is something heartwarmingly inclusive about vacationing with grown kids and their kids, especially when they don't live near you. After weeks or months between weekend visits, Poof! you are an immediate part of their family life. It is family life at its best--on vacation and free from the scheduling pressures of soccer practice, math homework and piano lessons, to say nothing of parental work schedules, obligations and deadlines.

For the past several summers, our family has met up in Vermont, cooled by the mountain air and refreshed by the green countryside. This year our daughter and her family couldn't make it (they spent the summer on the West Coast), and Paterfamilias faced personal vacation difficulties. A back problem was affecting his usual mobility. We  would not bring our bicycles, as we usually did. The tennis racquets were lugged along but the reality of their use was iffy. Hiking would clearly be a challenge. Without these usual activities, what, we asked each other, would we do in Vermont?

We learned to do nothing and enjoy it. With condos rented in the same complex, the grand kids and our grown kids to say nothing of PF and myself could wander back and forth to visit each other. We wandered down to the swimming pool to watch them swim and splash around ourselves, we watched  them play fast and furious games of soccer tennis on the resort's tennis courts and we wander down to the mountain brook to skim rocks and cool our feet in the cold water. We played board games and did crossword puzzles at their place; they brought their books to read at ours.  PF and I felt bathed in the warmth of familial affection, of being incorporated into the day-to-day functioning of our son's family.

Therein lies the heart of this particular tale. It's so easy for that bubble of warmth to pop--and not because of anything we did or said (though there is always the potential for that). This time it was a disagreement between our son and daughter-in-law over whether their 16-year-old son  and his friend, who had come to Vermont for a two-day visit, should be allowed to jump from the top of a waterfall into a rock encased, fresh-water swimming hole. (See above)

We were not in attendance--we were sitting it out at our condo because of PF's back limitations. But we had hiked down to this particular spot in past years and had been there when three teen-age boys climbed the rocks and jumped off that waterfall into the dark, pooled water. It was heart-stopping to watch--and pretty scary for the boys, too. It seemed to be a rite of passage of some kind.

This year, when the two 16-year-olds--our Grand and his friend--wanted to jump, our DIL was against it, arguing that not only was it risky for her son  but she was responsible for returning the friend to his parents unharmed. Our son was on the "rite of passage" side. The boys jumped. All returned home safely but our DIL was deeply angry at her son's father.

We stayed out of the dispute--because we weren't there and because we shouldn't butt in, but the family discord cast its pall.

For us as parents, there is nothing pleasant about bearing witness to an argument between your child and his or her spouse, especially a dispute that runs deep, has right and wrong on both sides and stakes that are higher than they appear. It drained the warmth out of the last day of our vacation together.

It was also a reminder of how parenting teens is such a rocky experience. It brought back memories of tensions between PF and me during our kids' adolescence. The details and subject matter of the fights are hazy but I recall clearly the desperation of the moments: I felt like we were fighting over the future of our children. 

I also remember this: When our kids went off to college and the house was eerily empty, the fighting stopped. Our kids were launched. PF and I no longer had anything to argue about.

Our son and his family are home now and back to their routines. The Grands--two teens and a 9-year-old--are heading back to school. Soccer practice is in play, so are parental deadlines. I haven't asked but I am sure my son and DIL have moved on from the waterfall fight. I feel I should tell them that there will be more and possibly worse battles to come--and then the kids will be grown up and parental angst will melt into pleasure.

Ours did.

 

 

 

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