When my eldest child departed for college a few years back, the transition felt surprisingly smooth. Enrolled in a trimester-based program, he left weeks after many of his peers, and by the time he set off, we were all prepared. I fought back tears as we drove away from campus, but it was difficult to feel sorrow, knowing he would thrive—and that we would too.
However, after winter break that first year, the emotional weight hit my husband and me more profoundly. During vacation, it felt as if we had returned to our regular lives, as though the grand adventure had been a resounding success, only for it to come to an abrupt end. Yet, off he went once again. We exchanged glances across the dinner table, filled with unspoken sadness. “Every time he leaves, I realize things will never return to what they were,” I remarked. “Each time he departs, I fear that I might not see him again,” my husband replied.
This is the reality. They leave, they come back, and they leave again. Each departure and reunion brings a mixture of sweetness and challenges, including the clutter, the unexpected habits, and those cherished moments together.
Then there are the summers. Another iteration of the same cycle: greetings followed by farewells.
This summer, my son is immersing himself in life on the island of Manhattan. It feels like the most fitting place for him—a destination he absolutely must explore.
New York has always held a central place in my existence. Growing up in Connecticut, it was impossible to ignore the city’s allure, vibrant and promising, yet distinct from our quiet town. I reveled in childhood visits, from watching Reggie Jackson at Yankee Stadium to attending operas at the opulent Metropolitan.
My first real experience with the city was an overnight stay at a college I had been accepted to. I pondered whether this was the right choice as I gazed out at the brick buildings. Ultimately, I opted to remain in Connecticut, close to home.
My relationship with the city deepened when my college boyfriend—now my husband—moved to New York. For years, I drove my old Ford Escort into the city for weekend visits, praying it wouldn’t break down in those uncertain areas. We wandered the streets, visited museums, and dined at local diners (Chipotle wasn’t on the scene yet). I often lay awake, listening to the sounds of sirens and bustling streets.
My husband has his own connections to New York. Hailing from Baltimore, his father worked in Manhattan, and his Dutch ancestors arrived on the Halve Maen and settled there. It only made sense for him to embrace the city.
Our son feels a similar pull. Now studying in New York state, he lives in a space that mirrors the warmth of the concrete jungle. He grew up watching reruns of Friends—before streaming services became commonplace—because we owned all the seasons. At some point, he will have to assess the city for himself. Why not now? Until the moment he packed his car with belongings, this seemed completely reasonable to me.
But the night he left, I found myself awake all night, my worries flashing like the city lights I imagined outside his window. Sending him to college with a meal plan felt secure—he would eat. The campus had rules, safety measures, and staff. In Hell’s Kitchen, however, it felt far less certain. What was his apartment like? I hadn’t even done a background check. Bedbugs, roaches, rodents? Could he even stock a fridge? Did he understand that eating out three meals a day could deplete our finances and jeopardize his health? Did the job he sought even exist? We had played no role in his quest.
I woke my husband, who reassured me. We had navigated similar challenges before. Summer is a time for exploration, after all.
Parenthood involves numerous crossroads. Each time we successfully guide our children through a milestone—learning to walk, talk, or read—it feels like a triumph. We should have learned by now, with three children and countless transitions, that there are always more ahead.
This summer, my son will conquer Manhattan. Or at least he will try.
When I visited recently, I smiled as the bus driver played “New York, New York” while we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. The city still radiated energy—vibrant and intense.
My son was excited to see me, joining me for dinner and lunch the following day. His eagerness for care and nourishment was reminiscent of his youth.
Yet, he exuded a newfound urban savvy. We took the subway and strolled the lively streets as he introduced me to the city he is beginning to claim as his own. It felt like a trip back to the ’80s, if not for the Starbucks cups we held, and the fact that the young man beside me was my son, not my spouse.
This journey will prove invaluable. If he can thrive in New York, he can succeed anywhere. Everyone knows that phrase. In youth, the desire to succeed shapes many choices. With age, we define what success truly means. In between, there’s New York. Let’s celebrate New York, New York, New York.
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In summary, the journey of parenting is filled with transitions, each one unique and challenging. As children grow and explore new horizons, parents must navigate their own emotions and the changing dynamics of family life. Embracing these changes can lead to growth for both parents and children.
Keyphrase: Flight Patterns in Parenting
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