Parenting when they’re all grown up

My boy with the big heart and eyes.

There once was a young boy with the biggest eyes and heart. He was all hugs, kisses, and could make me feel better by holding my hand. He called me “Sweetheart” because he thought that was my name. He was proud of his little sister and often made friends with this opening line: “Do you want to meet my little sister?”

My kids with Natasha our Rottie.

We went to visit this boy, who is now a grown man in San Francisco this past weekend. We were taking BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) for the first time by ourselves from SFO to Berkeley to see him on Friday night. A nice surprise was seeing our son waiting in the terminal to ride the train with us and to show us the ropes. That’s the kind of person he is—he thinks about others.

I know I did plenty wrong raising him and maybe helicoptered a bit too much. I argued with teachers about his grades. I protected him from failing by driving forgotten homework to school. I had no issue talking to a swim coach or principal if I thought he was being mistreated. In fact, he didn’t fail enough early on when the stakes weren’t so high. But he made up for it when it was costly and he was attending a UC. We must have done something right because he’s kind, considerate and stands on his own as an independent adult. He looks happy, healthy and he there’s no mistaking that big heart and his big blue eyes.

Three months old.

He carved out a chunk of time for us and spent the weekend showing us Golden Gate Park, walking for miles and miles, which is our favorite thing to do. He took us to the deYoung Museum where we discovered Oceanic Art, Art of the Early Americas and the Hamon Observation Tower with break taking 360’ views of San Francisco.

He shared his favorite restaurants and we dined in the Gourmet Ghetto at Lo Coco’s Restaurant for delicious Sicilian linguine with clams, LaNote, for a French bouillabaisse, and brunch at Venus. All amazing.

What’s even more amazing is that he rode back with us on BART to make sure we got on the right trains and could make the transfer. Then, he gave us a hug and returned to his life. He texted me later that day to say he loved seeing us and missed us so much!

I’m enjoying watching the adult person my son is becoming. I realize I may not have been a perfect parent, but I must have done plenty right. Plus, each of us is an individual in our own right, and no lack of parenting — or too much helicoptering — can change who we are.