Dear Helicopter Parents:
I’m going to have to ask you to stand down. Before you get your knickers in a twist*, know that I know you: I too am a member of Gen X. Like you, I was raised by Baby Boomers who never knew where I was until the streetlights came on.
(Or when Chris Marosy’s dad rang the dinner bell in the Marosys’ front yard, whichever came first.)
Stop checking your child’s calendar, Snap and Insta for a hot second and listen to me.
What happened to you?
You know good and well that we didn’t have play dates or Pinterest-inspired birthday parties or gender-reveal parties or baby wipe warmers or organic food. (We ate Chef Boyardee ravioli out of the can, FFS!)
You know what else we didn’t have?
- Car seats or (many times) seat belts. We just rolled around in the back of cars, putting on shows with our feet in the back window.
- Hand sanitizer. We barely washed our hands.
- Awards unless we came in first place. Not first? Loser.
- Remote controls. We got up to change the channel on the TV. Only four channels; not much of a workout.
- Cable, Netflix, Hulu, etc. See above.
- A ride to the corner store. We walked our asses there to get our fix of Bubble Yum, Atomic Fire Balls, Bottle Caps and candy cigarettes.
- A choice when it came to chores, the food on our plates, sitting quietly at events (no tablets or smartphones to keep us occupied).
- Parental supervision. We were latchkey kids. We were babysitting by age 10 (sometimes earlier). The only goal was to keep the kids alive until their parents came home.
- Words of encouragement. “Good job” not typically in a Boomer’s vocabulary.
- Attention. Not even for injuries. That is, unless a bone was sticking out of the skin. Then we might get a Band-Aid.
- Timeouts. We got the belt if we were acting up. Or, in my case, a whack with a flyswatter.
I’m not saying all this was great, but I am saying that we all turned out fine. We are suspicious of authority, skeptical of everything, but fine.
Our kids will be fine too. You DO NOT need to hover — I promise. We made mistakes, and we learned from them. You are making it harder for them to be adults by doing everything for them.
These are things you’ve said to me or around me (names changed to protect them like you want):
- “Kyle is having trouble making his morning class. Can you go to his room in the mornings and wake him up?”
- “Madison needs to learn to advocate for herself.” (Yet you come to every meeting and interrupt her when she tries to speak up.)
- “Who will be doing Dylan’s laundry in the dorms?”
I heard a story about a dad who came to his son’s job interview. The kid did not get the job. Of course.
Poor kids.
It’s not their fault. You made them this way.
I would have DIED if my parents had talked to any of my professors or college staff. You would have too.
My parents showed up at college twice:
- To move me in.
- To see me graduate.
That’s it.
Times have changed. I get it. And I know there are positives to being more involved in your child’s life (like maybe fewer snatchings, less drug use, a feeling of being more connected — loved even).
I’m just asking you to back off — just a bit — when little Connor goes to college.
All of us who work at universities will thank you.
And that means you will have more free time to take up new hobbies like:
- Finally watching “Game of Thrones.”
- Exercising (that stomach isn’t going to flatten itself).
- Day drinking.
- Napping.
- Both of the above in that order.
Thank you, from the bottom of my after-school-special-loving heart.
Beth
* I’m British now. Didn’t I tell you?
Again, this is a trend that favors no body style. 
Observe and report 