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So when things are not the way we dreamed, we blame ourselves, just as we always did. Women who once were certain that they were terrible mothers if breast-feeding was not working now feel that they have failed when a grown son loses a job or a daughter gets divorced. Fathers who religiously coached Little League for years blame themselves when a son cannot make up his mind about his choice of career. It makes us feel like fools when we wake up in the middle of the night worrying about a son or daughter, mainly because we think we are the only ones in this predicament.

Here's what I have found. If you are worried that your son, who is in his late thirties, still isn't married or that your daughter refuses to face the fact that her career is at a dead end, you are not alone. If your son is in his late twenties and still hasn't finished college, this is more common than you know. If your child has rejected your values, know that this is happening all around you. If after you have welcomed your son or daughter's choice of partner into the family, you still can't meet his or her high standards of comportment, join the crowd. Some parents cannot fathom where their children come off expecting major financial help. Others are miserable because their children won't accept money or become resentful if they do take it. Some parents miss their grown children terribly; others are trying to figure out how to get them out of the house.

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On the other side of the generational divide stand our grown kids, looking for us, as we seek them. They are struggling to come to terms with their parents as people, flaws and all. When they are disappointed in us, they feel terrible. When they cause a blowup at home, they feel awful. They resent it when parents meddle and are distressed when parents try to fix everything ASAP. They become seriously annoyed or embarrassed by parents' behavior in public. When they feel they are being judged, they become even harsher judges. They know it hurts when they can't chat long enough on the phone; they feel bad, but they have a job to do and a life to lead-they're busy. They want to bridge the gap with their parents. But as much as they love us-and the young people I talked with expressed great depths of love-they struggle to get it right, just as we do. Signs that we are trying to listen to them and accept them fully are met with pleasure and often with a response that shows they are trying to see us for who we are, too.

As I listened to people's stories, I realized that parents and their grown children are playing a new version of an old childhood game, blindman's bluff. One person is blindfolded and then tries to catch one of the other players, all of whom try to keep out of that person's way. But now both generations are wearing blindfolds, as parents and their grown children stumble around trying to find one another.

There's no problem between the generations that is more loaded than money. It stands for love, judgment, and responsibility. It is also a symbolic torch passing from one generation to another. Grown children may still expect to get what they want, even as their parents understand that they will soon be the ones in need.

Great Expectations

One of my favorite family stories from childhood took place one night when my brother and I were small. We were sitting around the dinner table and one of us piped up with this: "Daddy, when you die, can I have your watch?" I remember the surprise on my father's face, and then his laughter. We were tiny, and he was young, and he had many years-and possibly many watches-to go before his death. I wouldn't have minded if my children had asked such a question when they were young, but I'm not so sure how well it would sit with me today. Melanie's story made me remember my father's watch.

Melanie is a great spirit, she entertains with verve, she laughs a lot, and at sixty-eight she hasn't lost the light in her eyes, which reminds her friends of the party girl she used to be. With a shake of her head, an entrancing smile, and a mahogany laugh, Melanie has flirted with heads of state and great artists. She drinks, she smokes, she cusses, and she has a great heart. A widow with three grown children, Melanie tells me about her troubles with Julia, the only professional of the three. Julia, a tiny woman with jet black hair and very fine features, is lively and smart and sings like an angel. Her spirit fills her wonderful Brooklyn brownstone with laughter, and her three children glow with the love of their family. Julia practices public-interest law, and her husband heads the legal-aid office in their borough. Melanie's second child is a writer, although she just gets by doing this. She is divorced from an extremely rich dot-com entrepreneur, who is thoroughly ungenerous. The third child, a son, is a brilliant maverick, who lives in the Southwest, composes music, and is deeply spiritual. He's always low on cash.

Melanie's life is centered on her family. Her husband died more than a decade ago, and she has turned her energy and focus on the children and grandchildren. She recognizes that she should broaden the focus of her life but cannot seem to do that. She has turned from party girl into earth mother, a role she has embraced fully. Melanie has been dipping into the capital of her small inheritance to take care of herself-and her children. She calculates how many years she has left of Mike's money, and she figures it will last a decade. It is running out, and Melanie worries. Of course her children know this. All three are very close to their mother. Melanie has her daughters and their families over for Sunday dinner every week, she throws the grandchildren's "sweet sixteen" parties in her apartment, she takes one grandson to spring training every year, and she shops with his sister. They all share a summer rental in the country every year. They are as close-knit a family as you can get. When she visits her musician son, Melanie sleeps on a futon-and her bones send out distress messages.

A year or two ago, Julia and her husband were refinancing their house to make some improvements, and she asked her mother for a loan of ten thousand dollars, to be repaid when the bank financing came through. Melanie was thrilled to be able to write out a check for the loan. Then the refinancing didn't go through and the improvements did, and Julia couldn't repay the money. She asked her mother to forgive the loan and make it a gift.

For Melanie, ten thousand dollars is a considerable part of a year's living expenses, and Melanie told her daughter she couldn't forgive the loan, since her finances were strained. Julia was upset. She threw in her mother's face that she had been awarded scholarships throughout college and hadn't cost her parents anything, while they had paid for her sister's college tuition. And what about her brother? He was always asking his mother for help, she knew. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't equitable. It bothered Melanie deeply that Julia didn't seem to be concerned that she was running out of money. After two days of total misery, Melanie relented. She couldn't bear her daughter's anger; their relationship is crucial to Melanie's well-being.

Melanie knows that her second daughter, who just gets by, would sacrifice everything for her, but that doesn't cure this situation. She doesn't want to have to take anything from her children. The question of money turns into the question of age, the future, and who will depend on whom. It is a painful subject, and it kills Melanie to deny her children anything.

Copyright © 2007 by Jane Isay

About the Author

Jane Isay has been an editor for over forty years. She discovered Mary Pipher's Reviving Ophelia, commissioned Patricia O'Connor's bestselling Woe Is I and Rachel Simmons' Odd Girl Out, and edited such nonfiction classics as Praying for Sheetrock and Friday Night Lights. She lives in New York City, not too far from her grown children and grandchild.