Millennials, Can’t Live With Them…but What Choice do You Have?
A conversation between mother and daughter:
Mom: Are you worried I might die?
Me: No, you’re not going anywhere. Kinda like my children.
Mom: You know your boys will never move out of the house. Never!
Me: Seems that way.
Mom: But…do you worry about me dying?
Me: No. You’re healthy as a horse. Besides, we all have a “date” out there with our name on it. Not my kids, of course, there’s no move out date for them.
Mom: Who do you think is more likely to move on first, me or your kids?
Me: You. I mean, let’s face it, they’re not going anywhere. Look, Mom, I know you’re worried, but it’s a journey we all must take, eventually.
Mom: Are you talking about me now or your kids?
Me: You, Mom. My kids aren’t ever going to leave.
This was an actual conversation between me and my very youthful 86-year-old mother. Her health concerns weigh equally with her concern over our family’s living situation. My three sons are full-time college students, so they live at home. An arrangement that works, at least for now.
My mother disagrees. In her day, men left home at an early age (like twelve) to marry, serve their country or at the very least hop a train and ride the rails. I like to think my boys have other options besides marriage, death or the life of a hobo. Options like college and career, at the very least clown college. Maybe hobo clown college?
What Mom doesn’t know is that it’s not unusual for young millennials to live at home these days. Members of the “Silent Generation”, like my mother, wonder where things went wrong for the young generation. What was the tipping point? Was it the mollifying influence of Barney or those freakish Teletubbies? Was it the pseudo-subversive message of Hanson’s “MMM-Bop”? Who knows what they meant by Mmmbop, ba duba dop, ba du bop, ba duba dop. It’s questionable.
Before I place the full blame on Hanson, let me lay some stats on you first. Did you know that 32% of all young millennials live at home with their parents? It’s true, based on the 2014 US census report, and the numbers are climbing. But we’ve yet to break the record that was set in 1940 when 35% of all young Americans, ages 18–34, lived at home. I guess everything old is new again.
There are several reasons for this increase in familial bonding, everything from a fluctuating economy to a decline in young marriage. In my hometown, Portland, Oregon, rental prices are skyrocketing so fast that finding quality housing is almost an economic impossibility for a young person. With so few options available, is it any wonder so many millennials are staying home and saving their money?
But my mother, an octogenarian who doesn’t give a hoot about census reports, keeps hounding me over the number of kids living under my roof. She loves her grandsons but fears I’m overworked. I understand her concern, but she’s been waiting for them to move out since they were in grade school. I’ve explained that the state insists we raise our children at home and keep them in school. They frown on kicking your children to the curb just because it’s interferring with “me time”. The government’s bossy like that.
One night over dinner, my youngest son asked when he had to move out. He was ten years old at the time. “I just want to know if there’s a deadline or specific day I need to be out,” he said between bites of meatloaf. We were all stunned into silence. I told him he was only in fifth grade and should get through puberty first before worrying about moving out. “Okay, I just wanna make sure I’ve got enough money saved up for a big U-haul,” he told us, scooping seconds onto his plate.
I can only guess the whole moving idea was planted by his grandmother who’d been dropping hints for years. She’s been sending him travel brochures since the first grade. I thought she was just trying to help with his geography homework. I see now it was a strategic maneuver.
My fear is that Mom wants my kids out so that she can move in! I’ve caught her testing the springs on my oldest son’s mattress. The woman is crafty, she’s hatching a plan. God help me, I may need to install a revolving door in my house.
Our neighbors experienced a similar situation with their three millennials. They couldn’t shake them, so they moved out. They just left their home and moved to China. The kids stayed in the house, got married and had more kids. We can’t all flee to China, but maybe the neighbors are onto something.
I’ve hinted to my husband that we could follow the neighbor’s example and sneak away in the middle of the night. We’d be halfway to Mexico by the time the kids stumbled downstairs looking for breakfast. So far my husband’s resisted the idea, but I’m wearing him down; blasting Eddie Money’s “Two Tickets to Paradise” over coffee every morning and watching Spanish telenovelas at night. When he finally breaks, I’ll be ready. My passport and go-bag have been stashed in my closet for the past year. We could be on a midnight flight to Margaritaville and nibblin’ on sponge cake by noon tomorrow.
If and when the boys finally move out, I find myself wondering what I’ll do with an empty room. Hmm…I could turn it into a craft room. I’m not very crafty, but I could learn. A home office, perhaps? Or I could set up a kiln and throw pots like Demi Moore in Ghost. Or build a huge Oprah style walk-in closet! A home theater, maybe? Afterall, I’m now hooked on all those Spanish telenovelas, I can only imagine their dramatic splendor in surround sound. Muy caliente! Asombroso!
For now, those three rooms are taken, so the daydreams will have to wait. Besides a craft room can’t hug me. A walk-in closet can’t play backgammon or help carry the groceries. And a kiln certainly can’t watch The Walking Dead with me or share a good laugh over dinner. An empty room sounds good, but not as good as a room filled with love.
I adore my sons, they’re three of the finest humans I’ve ever known. They’re my crew, my posse, and my best friends. Do I want them to leave? Hell yes! But only when they’re ready.
When the time’s right they’ll move out, find mates and build families of their own. I want all of that for them. But for now, I’ll selfishly enjoy having my favorite people all under one roof, and I’ll try to appreciate every moment because I know it won’t last forever.
Convincing my mother of that is an entirely different matter. Ay, caramba!
