Stop Calling Them Kids

The writer is a current president

Becoming a college president with a young child was a graduate seminar in public child rearing that my Harvard presidents' program didn’t cover. In fact, no mention was ever made of children. The default appeared to be that was a job for the wife. In my case, I was the wife and the president and the mother. 

A few days after the first event at our new home, I sat my son on my lap and tried to explain that he would be meeting a lot of people and that he always had to behave in public. That meant no yelling “you’re not the boss of me,” his favorite phrase at the time. I told him people would be watching him and if he misbehaved some people might think I wasn’t a good mommy. He listened carefully and I honestly can’t remember a time when he publicly melted down again. 

That doesn’t mean he was an angel. On weekends, we would ride bikes to my office and I’d catch up on email. He would roam around and quickly figured out where the bowls of candy were kept. His pockets would swell like a chipmunk’s cheeks. As a middle schooler, he’d sneak with his friends into the cafeteria through the service elevator on weekends and raid the soft serve ice cream machine. I found out about their escapades from a security officer. 

Over the years he befriended most of the staff at the college and considered them part of his extended family. He was also a favorite among students. When he was in his mid-twenties, we were at Lincoln Center when an alumna ran across the lobby, hugged him, and introduced herself as one of his babysitters.
 
While there are many good memories, I also recall becoming very protective of him and was constantly trying to keep a firewall between him and public opinion. It was easier then, a largely pre-social media era, although I worried about how comfortable he would be with all the attention as he grew into a teenager. Our lives changed greatly during my long tenure as president. We both survived a difficult divorce that left us wounded but we understood that in public our job was to smile. 

When he was in high school, I had a stalker and officers were parked down the street. This was madness and I reluctantly decided he should go to boarding school. The thought of my son possibly being in danger because of my career was unbearable. I have a picture of the two of us forcing smiles the day he moved into his new school. I wept for hours driving back to the college, believing I had failed him. 
 
He is now approaching 30. He has spoken at two of my inaugurations and always brings everyone to laughter and tears. Whenever he comes to visit, he asks if there are any school events, a reception, or a receiving line—only a president’s kid would ask something like that. He adapted to his unusual childhood and as far as I can tell, this was an incredible environment for him. But maybe that’s just me hoping. 

You would need to ask my son, and he would tell you his version with wry humor and great honesty. 

Ed's note: we want to hear it. Have him write me.