I've always jealously guarded my privacy and my daughter's. Now that she's an adult and is no longer my responsibility, I have no worries, whatsoever. I dare any parent to disagree that once our children are able to drink, drive, vote and enlist in the military, we are not only relieved from legal responsibility for their actions, we are blissfully free of any and all worries or concerns.
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I respected my daughter's boundaries, even when she was a child. I honored the written warning on the first page of her journal that read: "If you have found this, be advised it is the private property of (daughter's name). DO NOT TURN THE PAGE. If you do, my mother, the famous lawyer, Jane P. Wilson, will sue you for $1,000,000.00." I did not turn the page.
I deleted her profile photo from my Facebook page at her request, so my friends could not leave comments that could be read by her friends. I do not call her more often than twice a month and I never send text messages.
When I call, if she's busy, we cut our call short and I wait another two weeks, unless she calls me first. It's very adult, very civilized and very respectful. She's almost 26 years old. I've been free from responsibility and worry for so long, I've completely forgotten what parenthood felt like. I often struggle to remember her middle name.
I'm sure every parent whose children have been emancipated will agree it's a joyful, exhilarating experience to know your child has entered adult society and your job is done. They're on their own and anything that happens to them no longer has any relevance to your own life.
Until you call after 10 days, rather than 14, since you don't want to spoil the big plans she has for the weekend. And learn this is not the weekend she has big plans. Trust me on this . . . calling four days before anyone's thesis is due is ill-advised.
I don't know if she told me when it was due and I forgot, or if she didn't tell me because she felt there was no need, since she's emancipated and as such, is no different from any other person, or if she innocently and considerately intended to save me from having to devote a scintilla of brain-space to thinking about her, which is, admittedly, something I have done only occasionally since her 21st birthday.
Although she's almost 26 and has not been my responsibility for so long I'm not sure I recall the color of her eyes, she was very considerate. She answered the phone on the second ring and said only, "Mom, it's due this weekend. Please save any alarming medical news until Monday. I love you. Bye."