How helicopter parents are ruining college students

[paleotn]

25. What the hell?

...calling a University president because your "little darling" doesn't get along with their roommate? Seriously, has parenting devolved to that level of stupidity?

Here's parenting from WWII generation parents I experienced in the 60's and 70's....without the 5 feet of snow....

Extracurricular activities were limited to mostly what I wanted to do. Other than a few suggestions, my parents mostly stayed out of it. Although my Dad did introduce me the the peace of fishing and the magic of the public library. Usually it was peer pressure from my friends and visa versa that decided whether we played baseball or some other organized sport.

I went to summer camp a couple times, but didn't like the structure. Mom and Dad understood. The world outside our back door was my summer education and I experienced it to the fullest. There were limits to our wanderings, but were measured in square miles, not square yards.

A level of academic achievement was expected....expected from me, not my teachers. PTA meetings (it was called parent teacher association back in the day) consisted of my Mom or Dad chatting with a teacher, usually outside my earshot. They chatted for awhile then the meeting always broke up with them chuckling for a bit and shaking hands at the end. I got my talking to about "study time and putting in more effort because they knew I had the potential" when we got home. Oh, joy.

Other than Mom dragging my ass out of bed, getting to school on time was my responsibility. Well, we lived close in primary and Jr. high school, so I walked or rode my bike. In high school it was the bus or hitching a ride with friends. However, it was my responsibility to get to school on time and my ass was grass if I didn't and my parents found out....which they did a few times.

Dad took me to college my first freshmen fall. Mom couldn't handle it I don't think. Years later, Dad told me Mom did have a hard time letting her youngest go, but didn't want to make a big scene. When we finished hauling stuff up, Dad grabbed my shoulder, told me I'd do just fine, handed me a twenty dollar bill and told me to call if I needed anything. Of course "need anything" to me meant if a meteor crashed into my car, destroying it or if I was taken hostage by the PLO. Other than that, I could handle it. Matter of fact, it was painful to NOT handle things myself.