This time a year ago there was much cause for hand-wringing and lost sleep over the firstborn's college debut.

Freshman year was pretty much a write-off — a very costly and aggravating one. Freedom from mandatory phone checks, curfews and companion screening proved a little too liberating for The Girl. The result was academic probation and very nearly a decision by her financial backers (us) to pull the plug.

But as summer approached, there were signs she was turning a corner. This was partly due to the natural maturing process, but I also think it was a case of "scared straight" when she realized how close she was to blowing this precious opportunity for a college education.

So we gave her another chance. However, we explained we would be able to pay only for tuition and rent and that she would be responsible for food, utilities and all other expenses.

In plain English: "Get a job."

She secured employment as a waitress, which brought the benefits of tips, cheap meals, sharpened time-management skills, and less leisure and energy for mischief.

Months later I'm happy to report not a single bounced check this sophomore year. You don't need "Econ 101" to figure out that if there's no money in your wallet, you don't go out with the gang on a Saturday night and you can forget about that ski trip over spring break.

Another byproduct of the new regime is that she's in fine shape, thanks to what I call "The Poverty Diet." Chips and ice cream are an extravagance when you're paying for them out of your own pocket, and bike rides and racquetball at the campus rec center have replaced more expensive and fattening forms of entertainment.

During a quick visit last week to check on our investment, we celebrated her first "A" — in computer science, no less.

And for the first time The Girl knows what she wants to be when she grows up. She had picked math as a major by default because she was good at it, but had zero interest in engineering or other math-related fields.

She recently announced a switch to natural resources management, and even decided on her own to stay on the Mainland over the summer to work and take a class or two to get in better position for her new major.

The weaning continues, but some ties forever bind.

"Mom, I'm sick," she semi-sobbed over the phone two days after we returned from our visit.

I wanted to jump on a plane and rush back to her side, but the best I could do was offer a long-distance hug and a prescription for soup, crackers and ginger ale.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.