If you have kids, you probably remember your first parental gut-wrenching panic.

You know the moment: You’ve just left the hospital and struggled to snap the baby carrier into the car seat base. You look at the fragile human nestled there and wonder, “Who thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of a baby?” The panic is real. You’re heading home and you are … a parent.

A friend believes this sudden wave of anxiety is worse for the spouse. The mother has had nine months of morning sickness, unsolicited advice and strangers touching her belly to prepare for this moment. Whereas the spouse continues life, only occasionally yielding to the concept that parenthood is on the horizon.

While this new arrival is life-changing, manuals, classes and self-help videos guide the new mom. But what about being the parent of adult children? Talk about navigating blind. Even if you remember your own parents’ annoying missteps, you are doomed to repeat them.

I recently committed a severe transgression with my son: I offered unsolicited advice.

A storm was brewing and he was taking a long drive. Rational me knew that he was aware of the weather and would plan. Rational me knew better than to let him know my concern. But old habits die hard, so I texted, urging him to watch the weather.

His reply was brief. “Thank you, mother, I am aware.”

Ouch. Chastised.

A teenager once asked me, “Why do parents try to control so much of their kids’ lives?”

“Because we don’t want you to make the stupid mistakes that we never told you about,” was my answer.

Driving a long distance in a storm is a perfect example.

Heavy snowflakes began to fall as I finished my last exam and headed to the car. The Potsdam campus already felt deserted. The car was packed with cassette tapes, Christmas presents and dirty laundry. It was the ’80s, so while I had a full tank of gas, I had no cell phone, no credit card and about $10 in my pocket. Despite the five-hour drive ahead of me, winter break had begun, so my spirits were high.

The snow was starting to stick to the road as I left town, but I told myself I would just drive out of it — a naive thought as I was heading through the Adirondacks. By the time I hit Tupper Lake, I was concerned. Plows hadn’t gone through in a while. I couldn’t pull over and use a pay phone, because my small car would get stuck in the unplowed snow. The motels were unlit; besides, I had no money. So I kept going through the mountains in the dark on the lonely road. With limited visibility, my guide was a faint set of tire tracks, which I hoped would stay on course. Without the tracks, I’d be lost. But if they veered into a ditch, so would I.

Somewhere before Lake Eaton, a figure emerged from a whiteout. And because I hadn’t reached my limit of questionable decisions that day, I slowed down and picked him up. He was dressed head to toe in red wool hunting gear. His ruddy face was hidden by a white beard frosted with snow.

Although the man didn’t say much as he got in the car, somehow, he was a comfort. As we slowly made our way through the snow, the stranger indicated he needed a ride to Long Lake. Soon enough, he signaled for me to stop and with a twinkle in his eye wished me a “Merry Christmas!” as he reassured me that I’d make it home unscathed.

He then disappeared into a swirl of snow. One moment the bearded man adorned in red was there, the next minute he wasn’t.

Deliberately, I continued the drive, with new thoughts intermingling with the concentration needed to keep the car on the road. Who was this man in a red suit and a white beard? Why did I pick him up without hesitation? Why was I no longer nervous? Although I never came to a logical answer to these questions, and the trip took hours longer than expected, miraculously I made it home without incident.

And so, kids, this is my defense for the indefensible act of offering unsolicited advice. I was once young, stupid and fortunate. I want a smoother path for you. So, in the interest of safety, here’s one last thought: Don’t head out unprepared in a blizzard because while Santa is always watching, he might not send you through the night with the gift of good luck.