There comes a time in every columnist’s career when they test out a premise and rethink their conclusion and their advice. And on occasion one must, as the delicate phrase goes, “eat crow.” Perhaps from a large soup tureen or fondue pot: dark, sticky crow.

So come, belly up to the dark tureen, comrades: This writer needs a few moments to ingest.

About a year ago, I wrote about the pitfalls of being a “helicopter parent” when it came to being overly scrutinizing, overly parental, overly indulgent of a young adult’s transition into college. The work and the research and the forms and the meetings and the deposits were all — it was declared — the sole domain of the new, developing student-to-be. Research concluded that such overbearing parents regrettably retarded the young college neophyte, which resulted — so the data claimed — on higher dropout rates and lower academic performance.

Of course, it should be stated that kicking the kid outta the “nest” of home life and super-gluing the keyhole to their bedroom in the name of assuring the kid “launches” was hardly the sole alternative.

In short, as the Bard might say: “Neither a social Darwinist nor a helicopter parent be.”

I’m here today to correct these limited choices. There’s a “third way” for the parent(s) or guardian(s) to consider: Parent as “hovercraft.”

Nifty, eh? It’s a midpoint between the two extremes, and frankly my wife and I couldn’t have navigated the rocky shoals of orienting two college-bound kids this summer — one to a private college and one to a public university — without it.

But enough theory. Let’s share some examples to better clarify our new approach to this rite of passage.

You’re too much the helicopter parent if you:

• Ask the Student Services Union what mechanics in town offer upscale nitrogen for the new tires on Junior’s car, rather than the all-too-common traditional air;

• You’ve left 18 containers – one for each semester week — sealed, dated and autographed lovingly — of Muffy’s favorite borsht and dumplings, only to find they won’t lease space in the college cafeteria’s refrigerated units;

• He or she can’t make that class Wednesdays in Bio-technical Archeology, and you offer to slather on a “bit” of makeup and take notes for him or her, because after all, “it can’t be that much different from when I went to college.”

On the other hand, letting him/her know that at exactly 7:27 PST they turned 18 and they’re an adult and — “not a moment too soon” — they’re totally on their own, and you’ve heard that the burger joints are hiring and here’s a copy of “Atlas Shrugged” for late-night reading, jocko, that’ll be $29.99 … Well, that may not be too ideal an approach, either.

The middle ground for parents? Far better to hover: Move, float, listen, respect, back off, bite your lip, bite it again. Keep the checkbook and credit card and accountant’s number close at hand. Tell the student(s) you’re “looking forward” to sampling the college cafeteria food. Don’t choose every course for them first, second or third terms — but encourage an appropriate-level English course from the get-go. In general, course selection should be between them and their advisers or counselors and serious web-sites and late-night Rathskeller bull sessions.

So hover and research and read and inform yourself so that:

• They know where to contact their academic departments and advisers;

• Where exactly the bursar’s office, health center and financial aid offices are located;

• How and when to best get in touch with you and other family members and resources.

As important as dorm décor, killer clothes and laundry soaps are, inquire about what they think they’ll need academically to succeed. They’re entering an enormously diverse environment where, contrary to most high school arrangements, most of the study time is spent outside the classroom and class attendance is up to the student. So ask, what’s needed in terms of supplies, storage and especially technology? And maybe at least one dependable, weekly phone call home schedule. Just because …

Hover. It’s a good approach.

Rob Peters is a long-time resident of Benicia. He has been a full-time counselor at Diablo Valley College for more than two decades.