February 2003

Parent to parent: Looking for love

By Mom Marion

It's a strange situation to want a romantic partner for somebody else -- in this case, for my college-age children. It's like choosing a dessert for another person, or a hat, or a vacation or anything where personal taste and chemistry should be the guiding factors, and one person can't really know what another one wants.

This means that Mom should stay out of it.

And I do, as much as I can, but, like a beach lover flipping through travel brochures in February, I can't stop myself from dreaming.

Should I hope my children find love during college? Is it more important that they date around? Maybe the relationship with that Most Special Person should be delayed until after the first job or graduate school. But wait -- I remember several awful Valentine's Days I spent all alone. Isn't it always better to have someone, even temporarily?

So I try to imagine the perfect impermanent relationship. I want the short-term partner to be a good companion and to treat my son or daughter with respect and tenderness -- but then why would they break up?

My daughter, a junior in college, has already found a special guy she hopes to be with forever. They met in high school, had their first date on Valentine's Day, and remain together, despite long distances and lengthy separations. My daughter dragged me kicking and screaming to accept this relationship because I refused to believe that the first one could be the right one.

After all, I didn't marry until age 31.

Sometimes I think love was invented to show parents, once and for all, that they have to let go of their children. We claimed we let go when we sent them off to college, but look how involved many of us remain, e-mailing almost daily or looking into special programs for our student. Only when it comes to romance -- where one student contentedly dates no one, another explores his or her sexual identity, and a third finds Mr. or Ms. Right next door -- do parents finally feel the reins being ripped from their hands.

Our own children wrest control from us, and so does the environment. Recently, my daughter taught me the word "unitcest," which at her college means romance between people who live near each other in the residence halls. Breakups in this situation must be especially painful, and not at all what we had in mind when we shifted to co-ed dormitories. I also learned of another activity, "hooking up," but I don't like the sound of it. Something ominous lurks in the image of a hook, something cold and mechanical, sex without love.

Each generation makes its own mistakes, and a parent can't prevent them.

Meanwhile, red hearts are popping up everywhere -- some things never change -- and we're on a countdown to Valentine's Day.

It can be a wonderful day, or a painful one, and much as I wish my son and daughter happiness on Valentine's Day, I can't be the Fairy Godmother.

So I move down the aisle of cards, noticing that although they are mighty specific these days ("for kids," "from both of us"), nothing is designed for a mom to send to a college student. I decide to look in the "close friend" section.

That's what I am, a very close friend who wants my children to find happiness and romance, whenever and wherever it will be. I also want them to receive at least one Valentine's Day card from someone who will love them forever -- but who is also trying to learn how to let go.

Newspaper columnist Marion Franck is the mother of a college junior and high-school senior. She has worked with UC Davis students as a lecturer.

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