My Adulting Daughters

Original Greenland Sharks with Roomies

A few weekends ago, my wife and I with some of the Greenland Sharks helped our 20-year-old daughters move into their new apartment in Logan Square. It wasn’t the first time we’d moved them somewhere, but this time felt different. Maybe it was the permanence of it—moving them from dorms and sorority houses always felt like temporary pit stops. This time, it felt more solid, more like they were really stepping into their lives.

Of course, the usual moving tasks were there. The HVAC filter was practically a biohazard, covered in dust that looked like it had been gathering since the ’80s. After I replaced it, the air felt fresher, and it was a reminder that sometimes, the smallest things make the biggest difference. Then there were the lights—dim and flickering, like the apartment was trying too hard to create some moody, artistic vibe. I spent time switching out bulbs, adjusting fixtures, and trying to bring some life to the place. Little by little, the apartment started feeling more like a home.

Hanging pictures was a battle. It’s funny how something as simple as getting things to hang straight can bring out so much frustration. But we got through it, and when we stepped back and saw the apartment taking shape, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing we'd helped create a space that would be theirs.

What struck me most was how much calmer this move felt compared to dropping them off at college. Back then, there was always a sense of uncertainty—wondering how they'd handle the transition, if they’d make friends, if they’d feel lost or overwhelmed. But this? This felt different. They weren’t just moving into a room; they were moving into the next phase of their lives. They seemed more confident, more ready. And, somehow, so were we.

After a long day of hauling boxes, replacing filters, and hanging pictures, we walked to Small Bar, a neighborhood spot with just the right kind of vibe—familiar, relaxed, no pretense. My daughters insisted on paying for the beers and burgers. It was a small gesture, but one that carried a lot of weight. It was their way of saying, "We’ve got this." Watching them take care of us, even in that small way, was a reminder that they’re not kids anymore.

Sitting there, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. This wasn’t just about moving into an apartment; it was about watching them step fully into their own lives. The uncertainty I used to feel when I left them at college was gone. Instead, there was this quiet confidence that they were where they needed to be, doing what they were meant to do. It was like we handed off the mixtape of life and saw them hit play on their own.

We finished our beers, said our goodbyes, and headed back to our own place in Chicago. As we drove away, I realized how much things had changed—not just for them, but for us, too. This wasn’t the end of anything. It was the beginning of something new, and it felt right.