Adult Children:

The Payoff

Ten years ago: my mom, Jon, me, Zach and Alex

I was talking to two young women the other night at a comedy club. By “young” I mean 35 and 40, the age of my youngest son. In her comedy skit, the older one got laughs relating how her gay male friend wanted to have a baby with her, and how she was tempted. Her story was poignant as well as funny. Later, on being introduced to her, I learned it was also true. “Should I have the baby?” she asked me, comically.

“Maybe,” I said. “If it’s your last chance. . .” I turned to include her younger friend. I said there were many reasons for having a baby, and they had probably heard of most of them. Finding fulfillment as a woman. Adding purpose to your life. Expressing the love between you and your sweetheart. Observing and affecting how a human being develops over time. Sending your genes into the future.

And, also . . . heck, babies are so cute!

But one reason they probably hadn’t considered is how great it is to have adult children. I told them, “Here are these people that you helped create. With any luck, they have your values—and you like being together. You know them and they know you. They get you!”

Both of the women were taken aback, perhaps at this glimpse of a possible future when they would be 60 or 70 and they’d have young adult companions they had raised. The comedian said, “You’re right. No one’s ever put it like that, about adult children.”

“They’re the payoff,” I said. Adult children are the reward for the love and labor and expense we have lavished on them as infants and children and teens. These individuals, our adult children, bind us to the past, the present, and the future.

The Past

My adult children are much more interested in my past, and my mother’s, than I am. When they visit, they are likely to pore over boxes of curling photographs from the forties and fifties. Slides and photos of their own childhood in the seventies and eighties interest them greatly, and they ask when and where the images were captured. They also like to look at their baby books, in which they find more photographs and my observations about their personalities and accomplishments until about age five. Knowing how much my adult children enjoy them, I sometimes give new mothers baby books.

I have a selective memory, in which their childhood was largely edenic. The baby books and my sons let me know otherwise. But they are also enchanted by their childhood . . . before the divorce. They were eight, thirteen, and eighteen when their father left the house. He was the principal photographer, so after his departure, I don’t have many photographs of them. Perhaps he does.

The Present

How delightful it is to have these people in my life, my sons who understand me so well, and whom I in turn understand! I can run decisions by them. I can ask for their advice. They know the books I will like and the films I will not. Their teasing sometimes hurts because they know my sensitive spots, but it’s also bracing. When they lived at home, they would sometimes all gang up on me. I called it “the wolfpack.” That doesn’t happen anymore. They’ve moved far away and aren’t often with me all at once—and also, they’ve become kinder with the years. We still laugh as much as we ever did.

We do things together, celebrate holidays, go for hikes, swim at beaches, go to restaurants, loll in hot tubs, cook meals. Above all, we talk, and above all, we talk about words and ideas.

Do I have a favorite son? I do. The last one I’ve seen!

Most of my friends dote on their grown children as much as I do. We compare notes. We brag. We discuss their wellbeing and their accomplishments; their mysterious jobs and their rich social lives. While a couple of my friends feel their kids impose on them (staying too long at the summer house, for instance), we mainly feel amazed we’ve helped produce these splendid human beings.

The Future

Our children may become even more important to us in the future, for we may come to depend on them more with the years. When our children of fifty and sixty start looking out for our needs, it is truly payback time.

I was telling one of my sons about my financial future, which looks good. He looked at me worriedly. “But you don’t have a Plan B.”

“Oh, but I do,” I replied. “I’ll move in with you!”

The look of horror, incredulity, and the effort to hide those reactions—priceless! “Just kidding!” I said.

We hope they never need to become our caregivers, but as we age, we may come to rely on them in various ways. I’m just happy they can help with my tech and home repairs!

Their own children, our grandkids, are our emissaries to the future. I haven’t mentioned the oft-sung delights of grandchildren because here I am focusing on their parents, but some people say that grandchildren are the real rewards for being a parent.

I disagree. If you’re lucky, the real rewards for being a parent are your adult children.