On a recent out-of-state college visit, my youngest daughter and I experienced a scene that is best described as the Brigade of the Packages.
Several delivery people entered the dorm we were touring, each of them weighted down by a pile of tightly wrapped mystery bundles. They laid the brown packages against a wall and disappeared.
"What are those?" we asked the cheery tour guide.
"Students' clean laundry," she said.
I caught my daughter's eye with a look that said not-on-your-life. It was unnecessary, of course, because she knows there's no way in H.E. Double Hockey Sticks this extravagant perk is going to be part of her college experience.
If it seems a stretch to segue from that 21st-century college encounter to a column about 20th-century latchkey kids, please indulge me for a minute.
Remember latchkey kids — those supposedly neglected children left to their own devices in the 1970s and 1980s with nothing but a box of Vanilla Wafers, a house key and endless hours to roam, read or watch After School Specials like "Me and My Hormones"?
I'll bet I'm not the only recovering helicopter parent wondering if we might rethink our largely ungenerous attitude toward them.