Parents are cutting the financial cord with their adult kids later than ever. They hope it isn’t awkward.
3 min
The parents have been paying the monthly phone bill and covering rent for far longer than in prior generations. Some are helping their children with down payments to buy homes. Others are putting a roof over their kids’ heads well into their 20s and 30s to help them save because they can’t cover rising costs of living.
That comes with a price tag. More than a quarter of parents who are helping their children financially said it caused them to postpone retirement, according to a recent Credit Karma survey . More than half had to cut back on living expenses and about a third took on debt.
Feeling stretched, they are negotiating the terms of separation.
Nancy Clark and her then-28-year-old son, Reid Clark, had just sat down to dinner in June 2022 when the conversation turned to when he would move out. The topic had come up before, but this time they decided to set a date one year later.
Nancy, now 60, said she remembers thinking: “I know that becoming financially independent needs to feel a little painful.”
Reid set off on his own last June. He ditched a job managing his family’s three ice cream shops in New Hampshire for a gig as the assistant to a professional ice hockey team’s mascot in St. Paul, Minn. He also works at an M&M’s store.
Nancy bought him groceries when he moved in and occasionally gives $50. By this June, Reid will no longer get any financial help if he’s short. He hasn’t needed to hit up his mum for rent money in the past few months. “I want to chart my own path in life,” he said.
Taking such a gradual approach and framing the conversation around gaining financial independence give it a positive spin, said Rocky Fittizzi , a wealth strategies adviser at Bank of America Private Bank. Telling your children you’re cutting them off suggests it is a punishment.
Many adult children are living at home, or moving back in, to save money. The cost of food and rent have jumped, and more college graduates are saddled with student debt. The share of 25-to-29 year-olds with student loans rose to 43% in 2022 from 28% in 1992. The rise was even bigger for those between 30 and 34, according to a recent report by the Pew Research Center.
Some 20% of men and 12% of women between 25 and 34 years old lived at home last year, far higher than two decades ago, according to Census Bureau data.
During the pandemic, layoffs and money strains forced some adult children and their parents to live together and share finances, said Arne Boudewyn at Insights Squared Consulting Group, a family wealth consulting company.
Worries over losing the close bonds forged during those years may add to the stress of ending monetary help, financial advisers said.
“Letting go is often harder for parents these days because we need to feel needed as much as we want to feel wanted,” said Bobbi Rebell , the founder of Financial Wellness Strategies, which gives workshops for parents about how to teach their children to be financially responsible.
Pam Lucina still remembers the day about 30 years ago when her father told her she was off the payroll. She was in her first year of law school. Her parents had paid for her undergraduate education. Because she assumed they would pay for law school too, she had chosen a pricey school.
She graduated with $40,000 in student debt and couldn’t afford to contribute to her 401(k) for about five years.
“I know that my parents sacrificed to give me what they did and I’m grateful for all of their past support but I wish I had been more prepared,” said Lucina, 52, now an executive vice president at Northern Trust .
Lucina said the experience was a main reason she became a financial adviser. She has three daughters, and recently asked the oldest to complete her own college financial-aid form.
She tells clients that even if they have good intentions when cutting off their kids, it can feel to the children as if their parents are withholding money to punish them.
“Assure them that love is not contingent on finances,” she said.
There are times when financial help is necessary. With a health issue or addiction, parents often use a special needs trust, where funds typically go directly to the child’s treatment and recovery. Others may opt to help children temporarily after a layoff.
But financial advisers said parents need to set boundaries.
Ashley Kaufman ’s parents told her she would need to move out of their Manhattan apartment, where she was living rent-free, once she saved $100,000 for a down payment on her own place.
The cybersecurity consultant hit her goal by the time she was 25, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to move out right then. She enjoyed seeing her younger siblings regularly and playing with her family’s dog named Waffles, she said. Her parents encouraged her to go to some open houses anyway.
Kaufman, who is the stepdaughter of Rebell from Financial Wellness Strategies, is now 27. She bought her apartment around two years ago. She’s happy to be building equity in her place.
“I’m glad my parents gave me a little nudge,” she said.
—Julia Carpenter contributed to this article .
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Randy Boyagoda’s new novel, “Lords of Serendipity,” delivers a biting satire of cheating, politics and dysfunction across modern universities.
5 min
Administrative cowardice. Rampant cheating. The soaking and scamming of undergrads and grad students. Performative wokeism. Intensifying competition for international tuition dollars from an expansive China.
These are either the latest dire headlines about American higher ed or the myriad subplots of “Lords of Serendipity,” an ambitious new novel by Randy Boyagoda. Unlike most campus fiction, its scope extends well beyond the cloister of the liberal arts classroom to whammy the entire university system, from its financial model to its function within a globalized economy. Along the way, it skewers its lightning-rod targets with a precision too sharp to be considered entirely fictional.
That its author is not only well-versed in satire, having written four other novels in the genre, but is also a professor of English at the University of Toronto and an experienced college administrator, further blurs the lines between comic fiction and brutal fact. It’s the kind of no-holds-barred book only a consummate insider would know to write—but only one who is also conveniently outside the American university system could get away with writing.
“This is someone who’s got the inside dope on what can go on at universities, especially with international students, and what kind of con games are going on,” said Margaret Atwood, a friend and fellow Torontonian.
The novel, like Boyagoda himself, is often very funny—even as the dilemmas its characters face read as tragedy. Its cast includes the bickering members of a Sri Lankan hotel cleaner’s family, insecure American freshmen, dead-end third-tier college professors and their highflying Ivy League counterparts and dispirited university functionaries. An old-fashioned Dickensian tale, it sweeps across continents and campuses, from a classic liberal-arts college to a stand-in for Harvard University to an urban technical school to the dilapidated buildings of a state-run university in Sri Lanka.
“I’m a joyful person,” Boyagoda said in an interview, though he prefers to see his outlook on academia as “hopeful” rather than optimistic. He smiles and laughs frequently. He bikes everywhere. He derives energy from his students and from his four daughters, ages 14 to 20. They help him and his American wife, Anna, also an educator, care for Boyagoda’s father, an immigrant from Sri Lanka who has dementia and lives with the family.
The germ of the novel came to Boyagoda during the pandemic, when he was serving as a vice-dean. An urban legend was circulating about a statistics grad student selling passing grades to international students. The cheating scheme itself may well have been apocryphal, but it felt tantalizingly plausible.
“As a novelist, it stayed with me,” Boyagoda said. “Who would sell grades for a stats course? Why would someone buy grades? What’s motivating them? Why wouldn’t the university be doing something about it?” What he didn’t want to do, he explained, was write “another novel about a creative writing professor and his drama with students.”
In addition to writing novels—the first of which was a finalist for Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize; he’s written eight books in total—Boyagoda teaches literature full-time. For his students next semester, kids raised in a purportedly “post-literature era,” he’s assigning three 700-page novels, he noted mischievously, books by George Eliot, Ralph Ellison and Kiran Desai.
On RateMyProfessors, students remark on Boyagoda’s heavy assignments, tough grading and distaste for cellphones, but also hail his “comedy.” When alerted to these reviews, Boyagoda laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said.
“Randy’s one of those people in academia who is very well educated but doesn’t have an ounce of superiority about him,” said John Irving, who frequently guest lectures in Boyagoda’s classroom. “It’s amazing to see how willing students are to talk in his classrooms, how little afraid they feel of being mocked or put down—he gets complete candor out of them.”
Negotiating competing interests seems to come naturally to him. Like many college campuses, after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, the University of Toronto was embroiled in protests, encampments and discord; part of the school’s response was to convene a working group on civil discourse. Boyagoda was put in charge, serving for two years. It’s the kind of thankless task many professors would flee from, but Boyagoda relished the prospect and thinks the group, which is ongoing, made progress.
He has since pivoted to another formidable academic concern: the waning prestige of the humanities. In July, Boyagoda became the director of the Jackman Humanities Institute and special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science. This fall, he is starting a series of gatherings he calls the Dead Book Club. (Dead writers feature heavily among his favorites: St. Augustine, Dante, William Faulkner, Evelyn Waugh, Saul Bellow.)
“The goal is to encourage students to read for its own sake and have conversation for its own sake,” Boyagoda said. “The importance of the humanities will be revealed to those who participate.”
“Lords of Serendipity,” which publishes next week, reflects Boyagoda’s commitment to the pursuit of knowledge: “I’m supposed to say I learn more from my students than they do from me, but no,” Boyagoda said. “I enjoy sharing my excitement and joy about literature and ideas. There are these moments when you are teaching and you can see someone’s face change because they didn’t know something and then they did. That moment when you’re actually watch someone enlarge themselves is deeply satisfying.”
In literary circles, Boyagoda is often referred to as a Catholic novelist, a description he embraces. “A novelist willing to give shape and voice to contemporary religious experience is needed,” Boyagoda said. “I understand myself as a Catholic novelist, provided that I’m not only a Catholic novelist, I’m also a South Asian novelist and I’m a Canadian novelist. I don’t want to be captive to one label.”
His characters, he said, are subjected to what he calls “Graham Greene character situations.”
“They are trying to do good in a fallen world and realize the most they can do is less harm than someone else would do in that same role,” he explained. “They have to accept they are complicit in something that provides some good thing to others. It’s a very Graham Greene way of thinking about sacrifice.”
The campus green they inhabit is a febrile zone in which lofty ideals and cynicism regularly collide. It’s a place where a traditional holiday college celebration is now an occasion for political protest. Kids freely police one another inside and out of the classroom with social media their constant, ready weapon of choice. International students, knowing their family’s financial futures hinge on their degrees, operate in terror of failure and deportation.
Early readers of the book include Gary Shteyngart and Junot Diaz, both of whom have taught at universities and written comic novels. They each contacted Boyagoda midway through to say, in essence, “You nailed it.”
As biting as “Lords of Serendipity” can be, Boyagoda’s faith in higher education remains undaunted.
“It’s absurd that we live in societies that make the decision to take people between the ages of 18 and 22, when they are most physically capable of contributing to our nations and communities, and tell them, ‘Go away for four years, and read and learn and have conversations,’” he said. “I want students to be aware of what an incredible privilege that is.”
Corrections & Amplifications
Randy Boyagoda is a special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science at the University of Toronto. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said he is a special adviser to the dean of humanities. (Corrected on Sept. 2)
