Parenting College Students and Young Adults: Practical, Real-World Tips I Learned the Hard Way
Last October, I got a FaceTime call at 9:37 pm. I was wiping spaghetti sauce off the stove, my 19-year-old son was half-watching football half-writing a college essay at the dining table. When I answered, my oldest daughter Lila, a sophomore three hours away at state school, was huddled in her car in a grocery store parking lot. Her hood was up, hair matted from pouring rain, mascara streaked down her cheeks. She said, “I messed everything up. I don’t know what to do.”
She’d forgotten to register for the upper-division bio class she needs to graduate on time. She got an $180 parking ticket for parking in a permit-only spot she didn’t know changed after 5 pm. Her roommate had just bailed on their off-campus apartment lease for next semester to move in with her boyfriend, leaving Lila responsible for the full rent until she found a replacement.
My first thought was to grab my keys, toss a blanket in the backseat, and drive up there. I’d done it three months earlier, when she panicked about her summer internship application and couldn’t get her cover letter right. I drove three hours, rewrote it that night, talked through her resume with her, and left the next morning. A week later she texted me to say she didn’t get the interview – the hiring manager said the experience listed sounded too senior for an intern, and she’d had to admit I’d helped her write it. That stung for both of us.
So this time, I paused, leaned against the cool stove, and said, “That all sounds really overwhelming. Do you want me to help you figure this out, or do you just need me to sit here while you cry?”
She thought for a second, blew her nose, and said she wanted to figure it out, but couldn’t see past the big mess of everything. I told her to grab a napkin from her glove compartment and write down each problem one at a time, instead of piling them all together in her head. That took five minutes, and by the time she was done, she could breathe again. We went one by one. I didn’t tell her what to do. I just asked questions. What does the department website say about late registration? Have you emailed your advisor yet? What’s the worst thing that happens if you ask for an exception?
She sent the email that night, got approved the next morning. For the parking ticket, she asked if I could send her the money. I said I’d split it with her, if she picked up three extra shifts at the campus coffee shop she’d quit a month earlier because it “ruined her weekends.” She agreed. For the apartment, she posted in her dorm’s Facebook group that night and had three offers by noon the next day. She ended up with a smaller place closer to campus that’s $150 cheaper a month. It worked out better than the original lease would have.
Over the past year, I’ve talked to at least a dozen other parents of college kids and young adults, and we all have the same unspoken question: How do we do this? We spent 18 years being responsible for almost everything, and suddenly everyone tells us to step back. But no one tells us how far back to go, or what to do when they call us crying with a pile of problems. “Give them space” is useless when they’re sitting in a parking lot in the rain begging for help.
These are the small, concrete things that have worked for our family, after a lot of missteps. First, always lead with that question: Do you want help fixing this, or do you just need to vent? I have that written on a sticky note on my fridge now. Last month, my younger son called me ranting for 20 minutes about his terrible chemistry professor. I was halfway to suggesting he drop the class and get a tutor when I remembered to ask. He said, “I just wanted to complain. I don’t want to change anything yet.” I said, “That sounds miserable, that professor sounds like a jerk.” He hung up 10 minutes later in a better mood, and I didn’t overstep.
Second, split the cost of mistakes, don’t pay for all of them. I used to cover every late fee, broken phone, and parking ticket to save them the stress. That just meant they never learned to build a buffer for the stupid stuff that always happens when you’re on your own. Now, if it’s a mistake they made, we split it 50/50. If it’s something out of their control, like a dead car battery or a surprise medical copay, I cover the whole thing. They have skin in the game, but one bad mistake doesn’t wreck their whole month.
Third, don’t solve their problems, just brainstorm with them. Instead of telling them what to do, ask what their options are. If they can’t think of any, throw out a couple, but let them pick. That way, they get practice making decisions, and they don’t end up stuck with a solution that works for you but not for them.
Last, schedule a regular no-problem check-in. I do a 20-minute call with each of my kids every Sunday night, and we don’t talk about grades, rent, internships, or anything stressful. We just talk about the bad takeout they got that week, the dumb reality show they’re binging, the weird thing that happened in class. That way, we stay connected, and they don’t only think to call when something’s gone wrong.
Last weekend, Lila came home for fall break. She told us over dinner that she forgot to pay her electric bill before she left, so her power got cut off while she was gone, and she had to pay a $30 reconnection fee when she got back. She laughed when she told us, and when I offered to split it, she shook her head. “No, this one’s on me. I should have set a reminder.”
I still mess up. Sometimes I jump in too fast, sometimes I pull back too far and leave them hanging when they actually needed help. It’s not a perfect system, and there’s no end point where I get it right every time. But right now, this is working better than anything else I’ve tried.
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