Readers, please enjoy this guest blog post by Elana Zaiman, author of the new Forever Letter.
It is a weekday evening. Our family of three—my husband, Seth, me, and our son Gabe—just finished dinner. On some evenings, especially weekdays, dinner is often quick, each of us racing off to do our own thing. But this evening is different. We have moved from the table to the couch and we are sitting around talking about college, SATs, possible majors. You see, Gabe is a senior in high school and he will soon be applying to college. Tonight, he’s in a talkative mood, chatty even. His cell phone sits on the counter, not on his person, and he’s content to let it rest there, and not tend to it even when it vibrates.
Gabe is talking about specific universities in which he’s interested. He has decided, after doing more exploration online, that though he has his mind and heart set on one of the three colleges he’s visited so far, he could really go to any number of colleges, and he’d be fine. He’d find a major, make himself known, and find his people. I know this. It’s nice to see that he knows this, too.
He talks about areas of study in which he’s interested: political science, history, medicine, media, global health care. He’s enthusiastic as he discusses all the options. For the moment, he’s not anxious. He’s looking forward.
For many high school juniors and seniors as they begin to think about college, anxiety settles in like an unwanted guest. These sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds worry if they have the grades and SAT or ACT scores to get into a good college. And then there’s the dreaded comparisons to their friends. “This friend will be applying for a basketball scholarship. He’s got something I don’t have. What if no college wants me?”
So this particular weekday evening—free from anxiety and full of enthusiasm—is welcome.
Gabe then mentions fraternities, and no sooner does he mention them than does he say, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I push. “Sometimes you suddenly don’t want to talk about something after you mention it. Why now?”
He says, “Because I can decide what I want to do when I get to college and you guys can’t make that decision for me.” He says that he may decide to join a fraternity though he knows we have concerns, and though he knows our concerns stem from wanting the best for him. He’s reminding us that his life is his to live, not ours to live for him.
Both Seth and I acknowledge the truth of his words. We acknowledge that he can make his own decisions.
I ask him how we can better approach him so he feels supported. Seth offers this idea: We try not to state opinions as facts. We try to ask more open-ended questions. I ask Gabe how he feels about this. He’s in. I thank Gabe for sharing his thoughts because by doing so he helps us to be better parents.
The next day, when Gabe and I are in the kitchen having breakfast, I thank him again for our talk. I tell him that sometimes I find myself being critical of things, and that as I learn more about myself, I believe this has to do more with my past experiences than with his future endeavors.
The point is this: In my new book, The Forever Letter, I write about sharing our values, wisdom, appreciation, guidance, love, and forgiveness with the people who matter to us most. I remind readers that we must be careful not to command with our words or with our pen. Sure, we can communicate what we hold dear, but we must take care to do so in a way that respects the person to whom we’re writing and encourages him or her to live his or her own life. Clearly, this is one of my own lessons that I need to relearn.
Our thanks to Elana for her guest post! For more from Elana Zaiman, read her article, “3 Reasons to Write a Forever Letter.”
