Updated: July 30, 2019
Originally Published: July 14, 2015
When my eldest child, Alex, headed off to college a few years back, the transition was surprisingly smooth. Enrolled in a trimester system, he left a few weeks later than his friends, and by that point, we were all ready for the change. As we drove away from his campus, I fought back tears, but it was tough to feel too sorrowful knowing he was set to thrive—and that we would too.
However, after winter break that first year, the emotional weight hit my husband, Mark, and me much harder. During the holiday, it felt like we had returned to our normal routine, as if the grand experiment had concluded successfully. But then he left again. We exchanged glances at the dinner table, both reflecting on the change. “Every time he leaves, I realize nothing will ever be the same,” I shared. Mark added, “With each departure, I can’t shake the feeling that I might not see him again.”
That’s the reality of parenting. They come and go, each return tinged with sweetness and, at times, bitterness. The clutter! The quirks! The heartwarming moments! And of course, the summers bring their own variations on this routine. Hello, goodbye.
This summer, Alex is immersing himself in the vibrant life of Manhattan. It feels like the perfect place for him to explore—an essential experience. For me, New York has always been a central force in my life. Growing up in Connecticut, the city’s allure was undeniable, always radiating excitement and promise, so close yet so distinct from our quaint town. I still remember the thrill of visiting, witnessing Reggie Jackson at Yankee Stadium, and enjoying performances at the opulent Metropolitan Opera.
My first significant encounter with the city came during an overnight visit to a college I was considering. Gazing out of a window at the brick buildings, I pondered if this was the path for me. Ultimately, I chose to remain in Connecticut, preferring the familiar safety of home.
My relationship with New York deepened when my college boyfriend—now my husband—moved there. For years, I would drive my trusty old Ford Escort into the city for weekends, hoping it wouldn’t break down in those chaotic outskirts. We strolled through the streets, visited museums, and dined at local spots (Chipotle hadn’t even made its debut). Nights were filled with the sounds of sirens and bustling streets.
Mark had his own ties to New York. Originally from Baltimore, his father worked in Manhattan, and with Dutch roots tracing back to the Halve Maen, it felt like a natural fit. Our son, Alex, feels the same tug. Attending college in New York State, he finds himself in a garden thriving in the shadow of that concrete jungle. Growing up, he watched reruns of Friends—before binge-watching was a thing—because we owned all the seasons. He’ll have to decide his future in the city, but why not explore now? Until the moment he packed his car to leave, I thought it was a reasonable choice.
The night after he departed, however, I lay awake anxiously, my worries flaring like the bright lights I imagined outside his window. Sending him off with a meal plan felt reassuring—he would eat. At school, there were rules and campus safety. But in Hell’s Kitchen? Not so much. What was his apartment like? I hadn’t even checked it out. Bed bugs? Roaches? Did he know that eating three meals out daily would either bankrupt us or wreak havoc on his health? Did the job he mentioned even exist? We hadn’t been involved in the search at all.
I woke Mark, who reassured me. “Remember summer? We navigated this too.”
Parenthood is filled with crossroads. Each milestone—he can walk, she can talk, they can read—feels like a triumph. With three kids and countless transitions under our belts, we should know by now: there’s always another one looming.
This summer, we’ll embrace Manhattan. Well, at least Alex will.
I recently visited him, smiling as the bus driver played “New York, New York” while we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. The city’s energy is still radiant—the heat, the buzz. Alex was eager to see me, joining me for dinner and then lunch the next day, showing a youthful need for care and nourishment.
Yet, he had adapted to city life and seemed more mature. We navigated the subway, roamed the streets, and he proudly introduced me to the city he’s starting to call home. It could have been the ‘80s again, save for the Starbucks cups in our hands and the fact that the grown man beside me was my son, not my husband.
This journey will undoubtedly be valuable. If he can thrive here, he can thrive anywhere. Everyone knows that saying. When you’re young, the drive to succeed shapes many choices. As we age, we redefine what success truly means. And in between, there’s New York. Let’s raise a toast to New York, New York, New York!
For more insights about parenthood and the journey of self-discovery, check out this article on fertility and pregnancy or visit Make a Mom for expert advice on family planning. And if you’re curious about more parenting topics, explore our other blog posts.
Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, Sarah shares her journey as a parent navigating the bittersweet moments of watching her son, Alex, transition into adulthood and explore life in Manhattan. The article captures the emotional complexity of parenting, the pull of New York City, and the inevitable changes that come with growing up.