In my leisure time between jobs, I have become a lady who lunches. I try to pretend that these are networking opportunities, but really I just like to lunch in girly places like the Peacock Café (3 visits in the last 2 weeks).

At one of last week's outings there was a family lunching – 2 year-old toddler, mommy and two older what-appeared-to-be parental units. From the tension in the young woman’s shoulders, I tried to guess whether these were her parents or her partner’s. Considering that there was little in the way of correction or chiding offered by the grand-mommy to the mommy, I concluded that they were not her parents. After all, what mother can resist pointing out the flaws in her daughter’s parenting skills?

After lunch I found that there were 17 missed calls on my cell phone. These were a mixture of calls from both kids and I imagined the worst (permanent stains on the new rugs caused by the expensive wine we’d been saving for the next time something good or even marginally not-bad happened spilled by the dogs when they heard the doorbell being rung by the cops who were looking into the neighbors’ complaints about our trash cans being left at the curb all day in defiance of the neighborhood’s deed restrictions). Instead, when I did get hold of them I found that...

Caitlin’s car had broken down!!! At school!!! Woe and pestilence have descended upon us and the Rapture is near! We have a broken car! I’d hate to see how many calls something serious would entail.

The “emergency” occurred at noon when she wasn’t able to go out and get her lunch. I attempted to explain the difference between 911-emergencies and all other situations, but she was undeterred in her outrage that she had not been able to reach either her father or me IMMEDIATELY. This led to a discussion about the boundaries of parental responsibility, particularly with children who are less than a month away from reaching legal voting age.

I hold the position that parents are like vaccines. We provide a buffer against the most damaging elements the world will fling at our children. We protect them most robustly in their early years, but that sheltering, by design, fades as the children grow older and we encourage moves toward self-sufficiency (Oh, was that the edge of the nest? How silly of me to have pushed you!). In order for them to achieve independence, they must begin to deal with the bumps and turbulence they will encounter.

Caitlin, however, believes – fervently – that when you become a parent it is for perpetuity. It is your responsibility to smooth the path of even the smallest pebbles, right all wrongs inflicted upon your children, and leave them a trust fund befitting a Rockefeller. Parents are not only the vaccines of early childhood, but also the antibiotics of adolescence and beyond. We signed on for a lifetime of service and, like the Pope, must serve until death releases us.

As all parents that have come before me, and all who will come after, I have but one wish. I can only hope I live long enough to see Caitlin have her own children. Revenge in tiny 7-pound bundles is oh-so-sweet.