College Bound
Written by Susan Tate in the summer of 1999

I am about to send my daughter off to college. After being involved in college health for over a decade, I probably know more than I really want to about what she will face.

As the former director of health promotion at the University of Virginia, I have had the opportunity to glimpse a slice of college life that many parents protectively deny exists. I’ve also had the privilege of assisting college students in making healthy choices for their lives—to be there for them while they were away from their parents. What do I feel as my own daughter is about to leave the nest? What will she face as she enters this next part of her life?

Molly spent her first year after high school studying French in a program for international students at the University of Provence, in France. Her experiences this fall will undoubtedly be different from others who enter college within a few months of high school graduation. She has had her own apartment, has managed her time and (our) money, and dealt with a very difficult roommate situation. She accomplished these things while surrounded by a culture and language unlike her own. Beloit College in southern Wisconsin will be quite different from southern France . . . yet she's still entering as a freshman. She will be encircled by a new peer group, new professors, new living situations, and living in a new part of the country.

For the most part, I feel at peace. Her father and I have tried to provide opportunities for independence and healthy decision-making throughout various developmental stages of her life. I know I cannot shield her from the many aspects of college life that make parents shudder. I am aware that high-risk drinking behaviors can affect Molly whether she makes a decision to drink to excess or not. I can't change the rape culture that has plagued our world since ancient times. I can't jump into her head and keep her self-talk loaded with thoughts of healthy body images. I can't zap her brain with an abundance of serotonin to keep her from feelings of serious depression. I can't provide her with a routine of healthy movement that would keep her body at a high level of physical conditioning. I can't shield her from the agony of dealing with (yet another) suicide of a classmate. I can't protect her from pain and confusion while dealing with intimate relationships. I wish I could.

Of course, I can be here to offer my love, support, and resources. I can be a phone call away to be available to just listen and not judge. I can assist her in finding information that could help her in the processing of important decisions. I can pray for her safety and offer my support in handling life's challenges together. I can let her go on her own path as her own person: full of hope, trust, and wonder—anxious to make the world a better place. I can send her off with my dreams for a healthy and exciting college life, but with the realization that her dreams will be created through her own experiences and her wisdom will be gathered without me.

She's ready. She is a spectacular young adult. As far as I know, she has made healthy decisions so far. She will make mistakes, and may choose to learn about life in ways I might not choose for her. But I have confidence that she will emerge from her college years with a stronger sense of self because of the choices she makes. It's not about me—it’s about her. I think that might be the most difficult part of letting our children go out into the world.

Kahlil Gibran wrote, "Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself . . . You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth." I'm holding the bow; I'm ready for the release . . . with the arrow directed away toward its own path.

My intent is to respect Molly's path, to assist but not enable and to continue to be in awe of her spirit. I want her to have a blast, study hard, laugh a lot, contribute to her community, grow from joy, and learn as much as she can about herself and others. Beloit College, here she comes! I'm ready to let her fly.

Postscript - Summer 2009

Molly is now 28-years-old and working as a counselor for the United Nations in Burundi, a country located beneath Rwanda in East Africa. Her arrow continues to fly. She drives UN vehicles to work that are inspected for explosives before she enters the mission. She travels by convoy or helicopter to provide services for UN workers in remote areas. People often ask me if I worry about her. “No, I reply, "I don't.” If I did, I'm sure I would be sick, sad and a total wreck! Worrying is not the best use of my thinking.

And I have also chosen not to worry about my 33-year-old son, Zac. He is an amazing singer-songwriter who travels in and out of cities and stays who-knows-where on any given occasion. I have deep respect for his unique spirit too, as he creates an artist’s path that is often forged “out-of-the box” of society’s expectations of success. His music rocks my soul and just thinking of his heart and being brings tears to my eyes.

Our children were not put on his earth to please us or to follow a path that we choose for them. They get to create their passion. The best way I can support them is to honor who they are and hold them in a vision of health, light, safety and love. I refuse to project "worry" onto them. I am filled with awe for the accomplishments of Zac and Molly. They are unique individuals with their own strengths. They are not an extension of me.

Are there adult children in your life who are forging their own way through this 21st century world? Love them, respect them, envision them surrounded by light and safety—and allow their arrows to find their own target.