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BASIC ECONOMICS teaches us that scarce commodities are more precious. This holds true for metals, rocks, food—and time. Which brings me to today’s topic: Time spent with my daughter and only child has reached the rare and precious stage.
In summer 2023, scarcity was far from my mind. My daughter and I traveled to visit Grandmama—my mother—five hours’ drive south of our home. The visit itself was short and mundane, with just the usual catching up with my mother and tending to her business. But the 10 hours of conversation with my daughter during the drive were memorable.
What did I discuss with a 17-year-old? For starters, neither of us tends to small talk. We dove right into the meat of the conversation—theology, political theory, writing, money. She’s of the age when old ideas seem fresh and in need of new deliberation. I’m happy to serve as her sounding board.
Building a bond. Sharing hours while swapping stories is not new to us. Her mother returned to part-time work a few months after our daughter’s birth, with a work schedule out of sync with mine. That meant that, for several days each month, my time was devoted to doting on my daughter. A highlight of a day together was—and still is—our “daddy-daughter lunch,” as she came to call it.
Nowadays, that meal often includes canned tuna salad, which my wife won’t even taste and would rather not smell. In addition, it usually includes amber-colored ginger pickles made with overgrown cucumbers from the garden, a dish we relish. My wife won’t sample those, either, but she’s kind enough to make them for us.
The main fare, however, is conversation. Soon after settling down with our plates, she turns to me and asks, “What shall we talk about?” Thus begins an hour-long discourse similar to our exchange during our summer 2023 drive. The menu of topics varies, but eventually the words wend their way to books.
We both have an appetite for literature. This joint passion helps us through the inevitable rough patches that attend parenting and being parented. Though we each have a will that sometimes wears on the other’s patience, our mutual interest keeps us close. She tells me that I “always have something interesting to talk about.”
Troubling thoughts. While my daughter has been part of my life’s rhythm for the better part of two decades, that beat is changing. She began college at the end of the summer. If all our plans pan out, she’ll start her career about the time I’m settling into retirement. I can’t help but wonder how her new life will, in turn, shape the life of her mother and me.
College often opens wide the door to the future. Along with a freshman career, she may make a fresh start in a new location, with a new man as a regular lunchmate. Likewise, I wonder about the coming change in the lives of her parents.
Will we suffer the emotional pain of empty-nest syndrome? This phenomenon can strike parents whose last child has left home and who find themselves at loose ends. Parental loneliness and depression may move in when the child moves out, and satisfaction with life can decrease. Yet some research shows the effect may not be as strong when the child leaves for university—as is the case with our daughter—rather than full-time employment.
Conversely, data gathered from people aged 50 and older from 16 countries across Europe suggest a person’s sense of well-being increases after children depart. One reason may be that the stress of child-rearing is removed. Also, children living outside the home can enhance the parents’ social network and have a positive effect on the mental health of older folks.
That’s encouraging news. Meanwhile, what if our daughter winds up living hours—or days—away from us? Residents from a nearby 55-plus community make up part of my physical therapy patient schedule. A majority have relocated here from another state. During the course of our weeks together, I typically ask why they chose our town. “To be near our children” is a common response.
The urge to live near family is a powerful impetus to pack up and move neighborhoods. One HumbleDollar writer dropped out of retirement and into a new business. Another resumed the role as landlord to help finance his relocation. Closer to home, my wife’s own parents traveled cross-country to finish their days near us.
I understand the sentiment. Though the emotional attachment to my present home is strong, my wife and I have poured our souls into parenting our daughter. Given a choice, we want our lives to remain intertwined with hers until we both breathe our last.
Letting go. By the time this article is published, my daughter and I will have had our last lunchtime chat before she heads off to school. She’s requested a bowl of her father’s venison stew—another dish her mother won’t eat. Even though I expect we’ll sit and chew the fat over many more meals before I depart this planet, this seems like the closing of a long chapter in our lives.
Yet I harbor no reservations about ushering my daughter toward her future. Indeed, much of my life as a father has been focused on providing her with opportunities I didn’t have or wouldn’t take. In many ways, my time with her has been a series of vicarious moments, watching her progress from tottering steps to confident strides. As those moments grow scarcer, I strive to savor each one.
Ed Marsh is a physical therapist who lives and works in a small community near Atlanta. He likes to spend time with his church, with his family and in his garden thinking about retirement. His favorite question to ask a young person is, “Are you saving for retirement?” Check out Ed’s earlier articles.
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Great article … Very fortunate that my son and I still take trips to out of town baseball games on guy’s weekends and find our way to the golf course occasionally … not as frequently as I’d like but that makes you treasure it even more
It is every parent’s job: to raise our children and then let them go. From our son’s first day of school, the first time he drove the family car alone, the day he left for college and his wedding day – each of these involved a bit of letting go that was both joyous and painful. And yet, we always reminded ourselves that our primary task was to raise our son to become a responsible, independent adult. We are fortunate to be able to see our son most weeks as he works nearby and we are glad when he arrives, but always sad when he leaves. Every parent should be so lucky.