By Irene F. Starkehaus -
It's an odd dichotomy being a helicopter mom to teenagers in these ruthless days. I still feel this Rambo – First Blood type of protection for them. It's present just under the surface of what the world views as serenity. I silently convulse somewhere between that instinctive need to block and tackle anyone who thinks he's going to mess with my kids versus letting my children go to become the adults that they need to be.
Odder still is the dialog that I had recently with these young adults – my children. In spite of the fact that I could have literally held them in the palm of my hand not so long ago, they now tower above me while still gazing down upon me like I have all the answers.
Given the subject matter, it turns out that I have very few tangible answers for them. Mostly, I have instructions.