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- My husband and I realized that it wasn't just our kids who didn't have certain life skills.They didn't know how to change a tire or file for taxes, so we decided to show them how.We wanted to empower them instead of giving them a lecture.
When my husband and I realized our three young adult kids didn't know how to do some of life's most basic tasks, it gave us pause. They were intelligent, capable, and curious. But when it came to changing a tire, filing taxes, or even cooking something beyond boxed mac and cheese, there were glaring gaps.
At first, we treated these as one-off lessons. Tire pressure gauge flagging you? We walked them through the process of airing it up and checking the air pressure moving forward. Fast food uniform a bit smelly? We walked them through the process of washing the shirt to remove the grease. Weeds out of control in the flower bed? We taught them how to use a weed eater.
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But soon we realized it wasn't just our kids. Their friends — college students, part-time workers, even young adults already in the professional workforce — were just as unsure. Our house quietly became a hub for "life hacks." One week, it was a conveyor belt of teaching the newly employed how to file taxes. Next, we tackled grilling burgers. The pattern was evident: young adults weren't lazy or disinterested; they just hadn't been shown.
Then again, I wasn't either.
This isn't a Gen Z problem
It's easy to roll our eyes and mumble, "What do you expect from Gen Z?" But this knowledge gap isn't new.
As a young bride, I spent an entire year "washing" clothes with Snuggle fabric softener, never realizing it wasn't detergent. The first time someone explained the difference, I wanted to sink into the floor. But it wasn't a lack of effort — it was simply a knowledge gap. I had parents who showed their love by doing things for me, which was fantastic — until I needed to do it myself.
Looking back on that shame made me realize how important it was for me to be the person I needed at that age — a mentor.
Our approach was empowerment, not lectures
When a problem arises, my husband and I resist the urge to swoop in and fix it. Instead, we break tasks into manageable steps and let people get their hands dirty.
A young man who was entering his senior year in college was at our house when I was showing my youngest how to file his taxes. He asked how important it was for a part-time worker to file taxes. I walked him through the "why" of taxes and the benefits he could be missing out on as a college kid. The next time I saw him, he had his W-2 and laptop ready to create his own TurboTax account. When he discovered how easy it was, his pride was evident.
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Another young man had saved his money for a car, done all the research, and even scheduled a test drive appointment. He had the work done, but he didn't want to miss anything when he was at the dealership, so he requested a second set of eyes.
Neither of them needed our help. They needed encouragement and someone to be available if they got overwhelmed.
Sometimes, we learn together
I don't always know the answer. Tax rules fluctuate, oil changes vary by vehicle, and recipes fail. In those cases, I grab my laptop and say, "Let's learn together." YouTube has been our co-teacher more times than I can count.
Admitting I don't know everything actually strengthens trust instead of undercutting my authority. It shows my kids — and their friends — that adults don't have it all figured out either. The real skill isn't being a know-it-all; it's knowing how to find the information and apply it.
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And it is a massive win for all of us when a skill that has already been taught to one person is needed by another. For example, a young man showed up with a nail in his tire, asking for help. Instead of us jumping in, I asked my son if he thought he could teach his friend how to fix the flat. It took nearly an hour, but by the end, one young man learned a new skill, and my son elevated his own confidence.
Becoming the mentor I needed
Looking back, I wish I'd felt like I had an approachable adult to turn to when I was 20 — someone who could've explained the difference between detergent and fabric softener without making me feel small. That gap motivates me to be that person now.
In the end, it's not really about teaching someone how to cook an egg or apply for a job — it's about building trust. If these young adults know they can come to us without fear of judgment on the small things, then maybe they'll know they can come to us when life hands them the big stuff, too.
