Be nice to baby boomers this month. Their children are leaving home for college, and the reality has hit harder than $300 in overtime on the cell-phone bill.

Their grief takes many forms. Sometimes, the afflicted parent wanders from desk to desk at the office, sharing his sad story of delivering his child to school in a distant state.

With a far-off look, he goes on wistfully about their final hours together, perhaps a last meal together, how they unloaded the SUV, tested the mattress, fired off a few photos or videos and then, perhaps, how they sat one last time face-to-face on the bed, teary-eyed, and had the talk.

"You're on your own now, Honey. Time to test those wings. Make us proud. And remember that the only losers in life are the ones who never try."

I imagine the parting bromides haven't changed much in two generations. But just about everything else has. And that's in large part because of helicopter parenting. We boomers have a patent on it.

We hover. We swoop in for rescues. We risk life and limb to deliver provisions to our offspring under dangerous conditions.

We always have, from driving 80 mph across town to deliver a shin guard two minutes before the start of the soccer playoffs, to filling the tank and finding a corsage because the kid was so absorbed in something electronic he forgot it was prom night, to spending his inheritance on a college counselor so he will be accepted into a school semi-worthy of him.

Our parents weren't like that.

Our parents pampered a lot less and prodded a lot more. I can count on one hand the number of times my mother drove me to a school event, for example. Back then, you walked or took the bus or rode your bike. As high school seniors, we had no college fairs or career counseling. Our guidance counselors were too busy mimeographing warnings about smoking in the bathroom to talk to us seriously about college.

Expectations were so much lower back then. The college experience was a time to get out on your own, learn some responsibility, open your first checking account, do your own laundry, party too hard and sleep in the bushes outside your dorm.

If you were a girl, all your parents really wanted was for you to find a nice husband in college, have a nice family and maybe get a nice job.

Today, the bar's a lot higher. Boomers expect every one of their kids to be a doctor, a bank president or an astrophysicist.

A generation ago, parents didn't deliver you to college. They dumped you off. When my mom took me, back in '71, the emotion I remember most is embarrassment over my bedspread. It was Big Bird yellow and it belonged in that cinderblock dorm room like a piñata belongs in a jail cell.

Maybe we shed tears. Something tells me my mom would say yes, we cried. But like most 18-year-olds, my mind was not on my parents, as I suspect my son's won't be when I say goodbye to him this week.

Some say technology has made communication so easy today we feel alienated unless we're talking to our kids 15 times a day. Thirty years ago, pre-cell phone, you didn't talk to your parents because it cost money. ("Keep it short. This is long-distance!") Hard to imagine. Today, we'll warn them not to run up the credit card.

We'll remind them to call us once each night, eat three squares a day, study, read the university-sponsored brochure on STDs and tell them that if they need anything - a lawyer, wardrobe consultant, masseuse, trainer, financial planner, therapist - to remember that Mom and Dad are just a text message away.

It's easier on us this way. After all, how can we miss them if we won't let them leave?

mwinte@aol.com