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Leaving the real estate nest

Letters From the Home Front

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My daughter had a monumental crisis on her hands this week. It seems that a certain feline we call Fluffy (and who, for the record, isn't) had chewed through her iPod earphones again. "Get me new ones!" my daughter wailed. And in that moment, she's like a real estate agent working in the '90s. Back in the '90s, her broker would have immediately shoved aside everything he was doing at that moment, like gazing smugly at the production board or interviewing a new daughter, and dutifully rushed to give her what she needed. Her broker today (that would be me) plays a new role. "Here is the car, here are the keys, and Best Buy is that way," I said. You see, if I am able to look beyond today, I know I can't orchestrate her happiness or success, at least not in the long run. And I certainly can't be her Girl Friday at the ready every time the music stops. Ultimately, the best I can do is give her the tools that will allow her to accomplish her goals should she hav...