What To Do When Your CS Grad Kid Wants To Switch To Film: A Parent’s Perspective
The empty Amazon box for Sam’s new work laptop sat on our kitchen counter last Sunday, still crinkled from opening, when he pushed a half-eaten lasagna crust around his plate and told me he wasn’t taking the software developer job he’d spent the last six months interviewing for.
“I’m going to assist Tom, that cinematographer I met at the student film festival last semester, for a year,” he said. “Then I’m applying to MFAs in cinematography.”
I’d just taken a sip of iced tea, and it sloshed over the edge of my glass onto the woven placemat Sam made me in eighth grade art. I stared at him for a minute, because for four years, we’d planned this: in-state tuition, good internships, a stable job that would let him pay off his small student loans and save for a house. CS was the safe bet, the smart bet, the choice everyone agreed on. I’d known he loved film, of course. His backpack always had that beat-up old Canon DSLR stuffed in the top, even when he was heading to midterms. He’d stay up until 2 a.m. editing short films of our family camping trips for Christmas, and every time we drove anywhere, he’d point out how the light hit the oak trees and say that would be a perfect opening shot. I just thought it was a nice hobby, something to keep him busy when he wasn’t studying. I never thought it would be the thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life.
I didn’t yell, not right away. I told him I needed to think, and I walked around the block, which is what I do when I’m upset with my middle school students at work, too. As a teacher, I see so many kids trapped between what their parents want for them and what they actually want for themselves, but it’s different when it’s your own kid. All the logical things I tell other parents flew right out of my head. All I could think was four years of tuition down the drain, instability, no retirement benefits, what if he’s broke forever.
When I came back in, I had three ground rules for myself, and I’ve stuck to them. First, I don’t lead with “what if it fails” in every conversation. That’s easy to default to, and all it does is make kids shut down and stop talking to you. Instead, I started asking three specific questions every time we talk about his plan: What does a normal week look like for you right now? How much money do you need to get your reel and applications done, and where is that money coming from? What will you do if in five years you decide film isn’t working out full time? These questions don’t feel accusatory, they just help both of us confirm he’s thought this through, not just chasing a vague dream.
We sat down and wrote out a 12-month trial plan, then taped it to the fridge. He can stay in our guest room for free, so he doesn’t have to pay rent, which cuts his monthly expenses by more than half. The assistant job pays $15 an hour, enough to cover his gas, groceries, and MFA application fees, and he’s picking up side work editing wedding videos on weekends to save for new camera gear. At the end of 12 months, he has to hit three clear checkpoints: a finished 3-minute professional reel, three on-set credits for professional projects, and either applications submitted to MFA programs or a full-time freelance contract lined up. If he doesn’t hit those, we sit down and re-evaluate, and he can still apply for dev jobs—his degree doesn’t expire, after all.
The biggest thing I’ve had to unlearn as a parent and a teacher is that a college degree is a one-way ticket to a specific career. I’ve had former students come back to me who got engineering degrees then became elementary teachers, who got biology degrees then opened bakeries. All that education doesn’t disappear when you switch paths. Sam’s CS degree taught him how to problem solve, how to meet deadlines, how to troubleshoot a project that isn’t working—those skills translate to planning a film shoot, editing footage, budgeting a small production, even writing code for the interactive film projects he wants to make one day. It’s not a waste, it’s just a different foundation than we expected.
It’s been three weeks now. Sam leaves the house at 5 a.m. for shoots, comes back covered in dust and gaffer tape, and eats all the Cheerios in the pantry before I wake up on Saturdays. Last week he showed me a 2-minute clip of the short documentary he’s been shooting on his own time, about the veteran who runs the coffee cart downtown, and I cried a little when I watched it. He captured the way the morning light hits the side of the cart, and the way the veteran’s hands shake when he talks about his old dog. I haven’t seen him that excited about anything in four years.
I still worry. Some nights I lay awake thinking about health insurance, and down payments, and what happens if he doesn’t get into an MFA. I still catch myself scrolling software dev job boards when I’m drinking my morning coffee, out of old habit. The plan doesn’t guarantee anything will work out the way he wants. But what I know now is that forcing him into a career he didn’t want just because it was safe would have guaranteed he’d be unhappy, no matter how much money he made.
The 12-month plan is still taped to the fridge, under the lopsided magnet Sam made me in high school. We’ll see what happens at the end of it. For now, that’s enough.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » What To Do When Your CS Grad Kid Wants To Switch To Film: A Parent’s Perspective