Gentle Guidance
Helping the next generation find its footing in life
By Ron Ciancutti
Americans seem to acknowledge the age of 18 as the defining point for adulthood. That threshold allows a former child to vote, drink, and make decisions independent of parents. Heck, an 18-year-old can deny parents the right to see a college report card even though some parents are paying the tuition. As children of divorce know, 18 is the cutoff for child support.
Photo: © Can Stock Photo / fizkes
But as much as the world acknowledges this emancipation, the fact is parenting and helping a child find direction really intensifies at 18; my experience was that my kids needed me more than ever. Everywhere they looked, someone was asking what they were going to do with their lives, and the fact is most 18-year-olds haven’t the slightest clue. I know I didn’t. I acted like I did. I said something quick and simple like “business” or “law.” But I really was just trying to sound credible.
My youngest child and a few of his friends are dabbling in the stock market these days, and their questions are so innocent that I took some time to explain a few things; their reactions were equally juvenile. There’s so much they don’t know.
So, where am I going with all of this? Simply this: most kids will admit they are fairly foggy about their future, so they just shrug and wait for some heavenly sign or fortuitous stranger to give them answers. I believe it is necessary for adults to step in and at least get kids thinking about where they will fit in. Also, many kids take direction from mentors, older siblings, supervisors they admire, and teachers.
A Little Direction
Let’s collectively start to press a little harder to help shape their future because they will be supporting us when we retire. Keep it simple. When people infamously ask, “What do you want to do with the rest of your life?” and the confused look washes away, ask more questions:
Do you think you’d like to process information or sit behind a computer all day?
Are you handy in one of the trades? Would you like to work with your hands?
Are you interested in getting into a company at a low position, staying dedicated, and moving up?
Do you want to develop a skill you can take anywhere and never be out of work (i.e., carpentry)?
Are you interested in the armed services? They will contribute towards your education.
Is a college degree important to you?
Do you feel a need to teach people, counsel people, or provide direction?
Do you feel strongly about helping those less fortunate than you?
Can you work in a sensitive position and leave it at the end of the day, or will the emotion follow you home (e.g., doctors, lawyers, drug counselors)?
Do you want to work to live or live to work?
These questions can stimulate a real analysis of a person’s true interests. Here’s a second set of questions I call “the backstory,” which will help define the first:
Do you plan to rent or own a home?
Have you put any money away?
What kind of savings have you accumulated?
Are you a good saver or a better spender?
Is a new and expensive car important to you, or are you willing to drive a used model?
Are your parents or siblings needy? Do you often help them?
These questions will help define the debate over money and real happiness. The driving force here shoves the boulder off the cliff, and either way a person begins to think about the whole picture. “And well begun is half done,” I always say. Even if every assumption made with these questions winds up to be wrong, they get the boulder rolling and a person thinking. It’s just too easy to say, “I don’t know.”
The 32-Year Plan
I devised a theory with two assumptions when I first left college. The first was that life was cyclical, and I had been taught to live on a “school schedule” throughout those cycles. The next was that, if these cycles held true, I could carve up my post-college life into four “semesters” and stay within my comfort zone. Since the average career lasts about 32 years, I decided each life semester would last about 8 years.
In my freshman “semester” (1983-1991), I acted like a freshman. I “changed my major a lot.” I was serious about some things but not too serious about a lot of things. I played a lot of softball.
In my sophomore term (1992-2000), I left my juvenile world mostly behind and started to define myself. Life got more serious. My dad passed away. I married and had children. I focused on my career and completed my master’s degree in business.
As a junior (2001-2009), I did what a college junior does and began to run things. I took a director’s position with my company, sitting on committees, boards, and panels. At home I coached soccer, baseball, and football, taking every opportunity to provide direction to young people coming up.
By the time of my senior term (2010-2018), I was the guy people constantly asked about the history of the company. Had we ever tried this particular solution before? Did it work? I chose an assistant to train so some of my inventions and methods would carry on. The plaques and trophies started to pile up, and it became clear it was time to pass the baton.
I’ve been retired since 2019 and am now 60 years old. I have so much to be grateful for and so many fond memories of wonderful people. I’m even grateful for the memories of the not-so-wonderful people, as their lessons were even more important. Surely, I made some mistakes, but all in all it’s been a blessed life and career, and it goes back to parents, mentors, supervisors, and co-workers who bothered to listen, direct, and even nudge me now and then. So, find some young people in your life and get to work. They need your direction and wisdom. And it makes you feel good, too.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.