Introduction

“Nothing exerts a stronger psychic effect upon the human environment, and especially upon children, than the life which the parents have not lived.“¹

I am an archaeologist which means I was trained as an anthropologist to work in the past. Anthropology is the study of humanity and culture—who we were and who we are. Anthropologists study culture change so I accept that things are and should be different from the higher education culture I entered in 1987. Change is hard for us humans and not all change is good. But many of the changes I have seen and continue to see in higher education are clearly not, to me, good. I see too many students in the last generation or two who cannot think for themselves, who are micromanaged by their parents, who cannot set their own goals or design and follow their own dreams. I worry about how society will function in 10, 20, and 30 years when we have generations of students who have been overly supervised by their parents. I worry about how students’ lack of exposure to problems small and large will impact them when serious issues arise. And I worry about the long-term impact this behavior has on students’ self-esteem.

The above quote by Carl Jung is one that I stumbled across while doing research for this book and it had a profound impact on me.² This book represents a synthesis of my personal journey in higher education and the insights I have gained over three decades of professional experience in the field. The transformation in how students perceive and navigate college, as well as the extent of parental involvement, since I began working with college students in the early 1990s, has been nothing short of profound. These shifts have been monumental and, in my view, largely detrimental.

I was unable to find much in the way of scholarly research on this quotation, but people have offered many interpretations over the years. To me, it means two things. First, it is unhealthy for a parent or guardian to impose their unfilled dreams on their children. For example, if you were unable to become a doctor, forcing your child to study medicine so they can become a doctor and so you can live through them is a road to unhappiness for the child. Second, forcing a child to continue in your footsteps, whether you (as the parent) were able to live out your dream or not, is also not fair. As you will read in Chapter 1, my father’s plan for me was to take over his business, it was not to attend college, as soon as I graduated from high school. He then decided I should attend college, study business, and take over his business. I cannot imagine a more unhappy life for myself than doing something I was not suited for and did not like. I will let you discover what his business was when you read that chapter.

This imposition of a parent’s plan on their child, for whatever reason can also make for an unhappy college experience, and I see this repeatedly as students over the years have told me why they picked their major—their parents/guardians made them select it or they did not allow them to pursue a “worthless“ major. You will read more about this throughout the book.

Not all students are micromanaged and not all students lack grit and resilience. Not all call home the second something does not go their way and, for those who do, not all expect someone else to fix the problem. Often this response is true especially for those who enter college as first-generation or low-income students. Many of these students navigated the path to college on their own so they have some grit. These students face different issues navigating college and not all schools offer enough support for first generation and low-income students.

There are many people who, on numerous occasions, said to me, “The parents did what?“ or “The student didn’t do what?” “Oh my gosh,” they respond, “you should write a book!“ People who work in higher education will be less surprised by the scenarios shared throughout this book. What I share is not unique to my institution, though the stories are of course a little different depending on time, space, and the type and size of the college or university (e.g., religious colleges, small liberal arts colleges, mostly residential colleges, public or private, etc.).

This book starts with a short summary of my story—the story of someone who never felt comfortable in the world of high fashion that my parents occupied; the tenth-grade student who fell in love with archaeology and fought to follow that interest; and the story of the first-generation college student who did not realize at the time what that meant. Me.

Those stories connect and become relevant when told through the lens of my work as an academic dean for over 30 years. This work included daily interactions with students as well as administrative work for the College of Arts & Sciences at the University of Virginia (henceforth, UVA). The two themes I will return to repeatedly are (1) what it means—and does not mean—to be a college student today, and (2) the harm I think parents do when they expect perfection and when they do not allow their child the opportunity to own their college experience.

Today’s college students need to be braver and bolder with their academic decisions, follow what they love, embrace failure so they can succeed, and not worry as much about the rest of their lives when they are 18 years old. Why? We are living and working longer; employers often value emotional intelligence as much or more than IQ and GPA, and people change jobs far more often than they did 20 or 30 years ago. In fact, data show that people starting in the work force now (the early 2020s) will change not only jobs, but careers multiple times.

It is estimated that most people will have 12 jobs during their lives. In the last year, 32% of Americans aged 25 to 44 have considered a career change. Since starting their first job after college, 29% of Americans have completely changed fields.³ The average person will change careers 5-7 times during their working life, and approximately 30% of the total American workforce will now change jobs every 12 months.⁴

Another point I will make several times is that for many students, their major will not be their career. Therefore, going to college should be about the education they receive, the joy of finding and studying a topic they love, of learning, and the experiences they have both in and out of the classroom. What this advice means is that someone who majors in sociology is not limited to being a sociologist and a history major is not limited to being a historian. Students should focus on choosing a major they enjoy; the job will happen even if the dream job (if one exists) does not happen at the moment of graduation. It takes some people several jobs over several years to figure out what they want to do and who they want to be.

College: A Curious Journey

I have long thought that college in America is an odd institution. It is where many, though not enough, young adults go to accomplish three incompatible and difficult tasks at the same time. First, and perhaps most importantly, they go to college to get an education. To be a successful and thriving nation, we need an educated citizenry. Second, college has become a rite of passage for many young adults. They enter as a child, albeit a grown child, and they leave, if everything goes right, as what our society defines as an adult. Third, by the time they graduate from college, or even before they begin college, many adults expect that students will know exactly what they want to do with the rest of their lives. The mounting pressure that this expectation puts on students is detrimental and it is time we do something about it. Did you know at 18, 20, or 22 what you wanted to be and do? And if you did, are you still doing it? And if you are, are you doing it in the way you imagined?

Anthropologist Victor Turner wrote extensively about rites of passage and liminality in different cultures across the globe.⁵ He described liminality as the point in time where one is “betwixt and between.” ⁶I use this terms to refer to the time between childhood and adulthood. Religions and cultures mark adulthood in different ways; many of these age milestones are marked and/or celebrated throughout the United States. They include specific birthday milestones like 13, 16, 30, 50, and 65. They also include new freedoms like voting, buying alcohol, and the less exciting, but still useful, ability to rent a car or make a reservation at a hotel. In the United States, turning 18 brings the responsibility for males to register for the draft within 30 days of their 18th birthday. Religious and cultural ceremonies include a Bar or Bat Mitzvah (Judaism), Rumspringa (Amish), Quinceañera (Hispanic), Sweet 16 (American), Sunrise Ceremony (Apache), etc.

In the United States, completing high school, college and/or getting a job are also rites of passage. In this book, I focus on the young adults who attend college. It is a place where students spend approximately four years in liminality—no longer children, but not yet adults. However, many parents, and well-meaning relatives and guests at holiday gatherings, ask new college students what their major is and they expect an answer. This question has become shorthand for asking “What are doing with the rest of your life?”, even though there need not be a correlation. This expectation means finding a major that will get them a job and not one that is useless, like archaeology—which was my major and which I promise you is far from useless (though most of the public does not really know what it is; please do not think Indiana Jones). Their child also must be academically and socially successful. Nothing less than an A or an A+ and president of some type of club or organization. This level of success is a difficult task for many students.

Getting Started

The two events that drove me to sit down and start writing this book occurred in the summer of 2019. These events occurred in the midst of our new-student summer orientation program which takes place in July at my university. Ideas had been stirring in my mind for years, but these two experiences drove me to start putting my thoughts down on paper. Neither situation was all that unique; stories like the two I will describe occur almost daily in my work as an academic dean. However, these two incidents happened on the same day, so I suppose they were the last two drops in the bucket that made it finally tip over and compelled me to get started with the process of writing.

The first situation was one that a new colleague brought to me. She asked for advice after a conversation with a parent and then brought the parent over to me when the parent insisted on “talking to the person in charge who could do something.” The mother’s first words to me were, “You need to drop my daughter from Italian now. It’s not part of our plan.” The conversation continued, even as the daughter began to cry. Her mother reiterated, “This is just not part of our plan and she was misadvised. She has to be enrolled in French and it’s full.” What was the plan? An Ivy League Law School program, the same as another family member. The daughter had not yet started her first semester of college; she had not yet started the first day of classes! It was clear that her mother or family had not asked her what she wanted to study, specifically what language she wanted to study. I doubt anyone asked her if she even wanted to go to law school in the first place. The mother was angry and dragging her daughter down into what we often call “total meltdown mode” over not being able to enroll in a class (and I will add “yet” as there was still plenty of time for the student to adjust her schedule). Her daughter was not crying over the loss of a friend, a traumatic break up, or a major illness. She was crying because the class was full at that moment or maybe it was because of the pressure(s) being placed on her by her mother.

I appeased the mother by dropping the Italian class for her daughter, mostly because someone else who wanted to enroll in the class should be able to have the space. I then advised her that her daughter could change her schedule when enrollment opened to all students at the end of orientation, in early August. While she was not appeased, she realized that she was not going to get her way. Again, this story is not unique; it happens far too often. Though I am no longer surprised by its occurrence, I remain baffled as to why any parent finds this type of intervention helpful for their child. Keep reading to hear the second story of that day.

My Experiences

I have two personal stories to share on taking my own children to college. I cannot say enough here and throughout the book that letting go does not mean that you stop talking with your children, sharing with them or (obviously) loving them. As a friend once told me, it means your role shifts from coach to cheerleader. Students must forge their own path and learn from all the good, the bad, and the ugly that happens along the way.

When my son left for college, I cried for days. I cried before he left, I cried when I left him at school, and I cried most of the way home. I was happy for him for so many reasons, but I was also sad because I knew he would never live at home again. I knew how much I would miss him. And there were other things going on in my life that made this transition harder.

When I took my daughter to college, she told me not to cry in front of her. I made it through the day hauling her many belongings up eight flights of stairs and keeping my emotions in check. We went to Bed, Bath & Beyond, a move-in day ritual, purchased her books and a laptop computer from the bookstore, and I met her roommate. Then it was time to say goodbye and I was still able to hold it together. I got in the car, merged on to the interstate, and started sobbing. I was crying so hard I had to pullover. And then I had to both laugh and yell at myself to get it together. I thought taking the second child to college would be easier, but it was not. I pulled it together and made it home to an empty house and more tears. Eventually I realized it was okay. Not easy, but okay. They were thriving and happy and they were in college. I also reminded myself that one of my closest friends had a daughter who had just deployed as a nurse to Afghanistan. I felt ridiculous crying about my daughter starting college and, though we should never berate ourselves for the sorrow or pain we feel (it is what it is), my friend’s situation gave me some perspective.

I share the following story with the parents of incoming, new students every year. After taking my son to college, I had to go to work the next day and start fall orientation. How could I stand up before hundreds of parents and tell them it would all be okay and that they need to let go when I had cried for days? A colleague asked me how move-in day went and, no surprise, I started to cry. She looked at me and said, “Now Rachel, just imagine if he wasn’t going.” That simple sentence turned it all around for me. What if he did not go to college? What if he was not accepted anywhere? What if he stayed home while all his friends took off for new adventures? What if he never got a college degree? It helped me in ways I cannot describe and so I share it every year. It is okay to be sad when they leave and be happy for them too. You can be both.

Let Go!

The bottom line is that you must start to let your children go after high school (and maybe even a bit before that). If they are going to college, remind yourself that it is your child, not you, attending college. It is not your education, it is theirs. The quotation from Carl Jung from the start of this section rings very true here and throughout the book.

My children picked their own classes, they picked their majors, they found their way. I only called their school to load money on their dining cards since the credit card used was in my name. When they had questions, I gave them advice on who to ask. I never said, “I’ll call and take care of that for you.” I asked about their grades when I remembered, not because I did not care, but because I wanted them to own the experience. Their attendance at college was never, for me, contingent upon them earning certain grades.

You may be asking, “What was that second incident that drove me to start this book?” It was a comment that a parent made during one of my summer orientation talks to the parents of incoming first-year students in UVA’s College of Arts & Sciences. My talk covered the value and importance of the liberal arts and described what a major is and should/should not be, i.e., not necessarily a person’s career field. I highlighted some of the academic opportunities we have and reviewed the many sources of help and advice that are available. It ended with my “letting go” slide. Four illustrations were displayed on this slide. The first was a cartoon image of a mother pulling her young child off a tree on the first day of school. The image showed that the approximately kindergarten-aged child does not want to leave his mother and it read “first day of school.” The next frame showed the mother with her legs wound around the tree holding on to her now older son who is trying to get away and it read “first day of college.” The second item was an image of a butterfly being released into the air. The third item was a quote I like that reads: “The data emerging confirms the harm done by asking so little of our kids when it comes to life skills, yet so much of them when it comes to academics.”⁸ Finally on the bottom right was another cartoon image from The New Yorker drawn by Charles Barsotti. This image depicts a mother chicken and her baby chick, with the mother saying, “You’re free range when I say you’re free range.” I always get some laughs as I start to talk about the importance, as well as the difficulty, of letting go. I told the audience that it was not easy for me either, but I also added why it is so important to start the process.

At the end of the talk, I would spend about 15 minutes answering questions. The last question came from a father. After telling me that I talked too fast for him to get all the details and wanting to know if my talk was recorded, his question went something like this: “How do I get into the student system to see classes and grades because I need an electronic leash around my kid.” These last four words are verbatim. The reaction was palpable; even the other parents were somewhat shocked at this question.

I responded, “It sounds like you missed my slide on letting go.” The audience laughed.

He replied, “Yeah, yeah, but I need to get into the system.”

I replied, “You can’t.” I then faced the group and said, “You should all have a conversation with your child about what information you expect from them. We do not send class schedules or paper grades home, so if this matters to you, then have a conversation with your child about it.” I thanked everyone for coming, smiled, and turned the microphone over to the people leading the next session.

As I walked up the stairs, I could hear the student orientation leaders talking, aghast at his comment.

“What did Dean Most say?” I heard one student ask.

“He didn’t really say that, did he?” asked another.

“Yes, he did! I was there holding the microphone, he did!” said the third orientation leader.

I then reached the top of the stairs, and they looked at me to ask what I said. I repeated my comment that he must have missed the slide on letting go. They laughed. But to me it was not funny, it was sad. I walked away thinking it was time to start writing. These two situations are accurate reflections of the kinds of parental interference I have seen increasing each year, and they are cause for concern.

How are our young adults ever going to function in the workplace when their every move is monitored? How are they going to function in life when everything has been done for them? How will they face future failures if they do not have any when they are younger? How will they learn from their mistakes if they never make any? And how will they function and make decisions when we are gone?

Many of us at UVA say the following when we talk to parent groups. We tell them that the entering class is filled with high-achieving, smart students and they have been admitted to UVA because they are capable. Almost all of our students come from the top 10% of their high school class. Many are ranked first in their class. However, the math will change now; at the end of the first semester, 50% of them will be in the bottom 50% of the class. There is usually a pause followed by nervous laughter from the audience. I usually add that this reality does not mean their children are no longer smart or just as wonderful as they were in August when classes began. These students are just as capable of being successful in the real world after they graduate. You can tell that no one in the audience wants that child in the bottom 50% to be their child.

From parents picking classes and majors, asking questions their child should be asking, calling faculty about grades, to the 2019 admissions scandal,⁹ parental involvement and interference increases and worsens every year. Chapter 5 will provide some specific examples, which are seemingly endless. They range from simple concern, which every parent has, to invasive interference that involves the university president if the parent thinks their child is not getting what they want.

What also gets worse each year are the mental health issues, and I do not think this is a coincidence.¹⁰ I think it is related to the increase in parental interference and this too will be discussed later in the book. An American Psychiatric Association article posted in August of 2023 states, “The percentage of students experiencing mental health problems has increased nearly 50% since 2013.”¹¹ Some mental health issues are not new. Some (like bipolar disorder) seem to emerge at around the age of 20 (or earlier, according to the Mayo Clinic¹²) so that they often coincide with the start of college. Other students experience a significant increase in stress, anxiety, and/or depression that often feed on one another. Some disorders require counseling, and some require workshops that can help students learn how to manage stress, control anxiety, and gain perspective. To this end, my office created a position we called a College Life Skills Coach. She works with students one-on-one and in groups to help them learn “how to do college,” and to help them develop better time management or study skills. She can also refer students directly to the counseling center when necessary.

In February 2024, Johanna Alonso wrote an article for Inside Higher Ed entitled, “Counseling Centers See a Rise in Traumatized Students.”¹³ She stated that, “Nearly half of all students who visit counseling centers report trauma. This is a more recent and serious development. In response, colleges are changing the treatments and support services they offer.”¹⁴ This increase is also necessitating a change in the type of counselors needed, a position already in great demand. Now, both more and specialized types of counselors are needed.

The Message I Want to Convey

The two incidents that occurred during the orientation session that I mentioned above, and many similar experiences I share later in Chapter 5, served as the motivating factor for writing this book. Why this message matters so much to me is that I came very close to not being able to pursue what I wanted to study in college—archaeology. I was also a first-generation college student who did not realize what that meant until relatively recently in my work life. My story is somewhat different than many of today’s first-generation college students. I grew up in a comfortable, old Philadelphia townhouse in Center City. Overall, I had a relatively easy and pleasant life. My parents did not start off wealthy, but my father ultimately ran a very successful business. However, he did not believe in giving me much financial support as he thought I needed to earn my own money. Because of this belief, I started working for him when I was seven years old. I vaguely recall getting a small allowance, but I had to earn the rest. He believed that college was a complete waste of time and money.¹⁵ I was fortunate to attend a private school for grades six through twelve, where most, if not all, students graduated and went to college. I had emotional help and support from the school to get to college, but no support at home. When I meet students whose families do not want them to leave home or whose families have specific goals for them, I understand what that feels like, though I fully recognize that no two students are in the same situation.

People often ask me what I think of helicopter parents. “I miss them,” I say. “Helicopter parents just ‘hovered,’ but now we have Blackhawk parents or snowplow parents.” The less commonly used term is Blackhawk Parent. They swoop in and take control. Snowplow parents have been defined as:

“…a person who constantly forces obstacles out of their kids’ paths. They have their eye on the future success of their child, and anyone or anything that stands in their way has to be removed.^“16

These parents are out in front, plowing a clear path, trying to guarantee that nothing goes wrong. An article from The New York Times explains,

“Today’s ‘snowplow parents’ keep their children’s futures obstacle-free—even when it means crossing ethical and legal boundaries.”¹⁷

Part of me understands this desire because I too am a parent. The worst pain I feel, or have felt, has been the pain of my children. I do not think this will change. I can (mostly) manage my own pain, but when my children hurt (mentally or physically), I hurt, I worry, I physically ache. Yet I also know I cannot fix everything and that they need to find their own way. I also know they will be stronger and that they will learn from complicated situations.

I can listen, sympathize, empathize, hug, hold, and advise. As our children get older, there are problems that we cannot and should not fix. I am far from the perfect parent, but if my job working with college-age students taught me anything, it was that I had to let my children make mistakes, and even fail, when the stakes were low—even if they felt high. I tried to do this when they were in middle and high school. They lost games, fell off a balance beam, received low grades, were hurt by friends, and even lost friends, but they learned resiliency. They learned how to manage themselves and solve their problems, and they learned that some problems cannot be fixed. It did not mean that they could not ask for advice. But if you never confront tough times in life, then even a minor struggle, like not being able to enroll in a class, sets a snowball rolling down a mountain.

What’s In This Book?

I wrote this book to help parents see why “letting go” is important and to offer some advice to students while in high school or college. Because of my liberal arts background, the focus will be on the liberal arts, but the lessons offered here can apply to anyone going to any school studying any subject. There are also lessons for those who do not go to college.

There are four parts to this book. The first part (Chapter 1) is my story where I share my experiences growing up, getting to college, and then getting to graduate school. Chapters 2, 3, and 4 (the second part) include the history of higher education, what it has become and what I think it should be, and the value of the liberal arts. In Chapters 5, 6, and 7 (part three), I share some of the situations I dealt with as a dean and advisor, offer reflections on the pandemic and higher education, and then offer some advice for students. These sections come together at different points and in different ways for the fourth and concluding part of the book—the epilogue.

There is a not-so-subtle message throughout this book. Simply put, I want to say to parents, guardians, and others, “Back off and let go!” In terms of backing off, I think many parents set the bar too high, higher than they could have reached themselves. They expect their children to excel in multiple sports, lead several clubs, complete meaningful volunteer work, and of course, earn perfect grades in difficult classes. It is a competition with other parents that starts early. Comments like these are frequent: “Oh, your child does two sports? That’s wonderful. I mean mine does three, but we can’t all handle that, right?”; “Oh, your child has three AP classes? That is a lot. I don’t know how my child manages five, but she does!” Some children are brilliant and motivated without parental involvement, and while I hope they too are happy and healthy, I worry more about those for whom the bar is set so high—too high. Parents sometimes place an extremely heavy burden on their children who must meet these high goals. They become prizes and trophies, not happy, healthy, and well-adjusted children. They never establish their own identity and many crash when they go off to college or enter the workforce.

As for letting go, you need to let your child drive their education. Yes, your children will make mistakes and some may be financially costly, but they will not be as emotionally costly as if you monitor every single thing they do. More importantly, they will eventually learn and thrive and be wiser. They will be able to lead happy, successful, independent lives—something we want for all young adults.

And to all students, as you will read in the next chapter, my journey to college was not smooth. Everyone’s journey is different, but I hope the message of the next chapter will help you in some way. That message is about persevering and following your dreams while knowing they can and will change.

Last, but not least, I am grateful to the University of Virginia Library for the grant I received to write, complete, and publish this book as a UVA Pressbook. I could not have done it without them.

References