Last night, my ten-year-old son answered a question I posed. I found his response worth digging into, so I asked him how come he responded that way. He said, "Because I thought it would make you happy."
That moment stopped me in my tracks. Yes, there are times when we want our children to consider others' happiness - birthdays, special occasions, acts of kindness. But this wasn't one of those moments. This was about him forming his own thoughts, his own opinions, his own way of seeing the world.
I'm grateful for his honesty. It opened the door for us to talk about how he can make choices rooted in his own values, not just in seeking my approval. We could explore what he actually thought, what he actually wanted. Do you know what his face looked like when we paused? Relieved. He had permission to be himself, not who he thought I wanted him to be.
As both a parent and an educator, this moment crystallized something I've observed repeatedly: our children are constantly navigating between their authentic selves and the versions of themselves they think we want them to be. They're expert readers of our expressions, tones, and subtle reactions. They're learning, sometimes unconsciously, to shape themselves around our expectations.
If left unchecked, this pattern can follow them through their educational journey. I see it in my counseling office daily - high school students choosing courses not because they're interested but because they think it's what they "should" do. Athletes continue sports they've outgrown because they don't want to disappoint their parents. Teenagers struggle to answer the question "What do you want?" because they've spent so long trying to figure out what everyone else wants from them.
The college process often amplifies this dynamic. Students research schools their parents will be proud to put on a bumper sticker rather than institutions where they might truly thrive. They chase prestige instead of fit, rankings instead of happiness, and others' dreams instead of their own.
But last night's conversation with my son reminded me we can interrupt this pattern. These small moments - these honest exchanges about why we make our choices - they're rehearsals for more significant decisions ahead. Each time we create space for our children to express their true thoughts, each time we validate their right to have opinions different from our own, we're helping them build the confidence to choose their own path.
When my son saw that it was safe to admit he was choosing based on my happiness - when he saw that I wanted to hear his real thoughts instead - his relief was palpable. It was as if a weight lifted. In that moment, he wasn't just learning about making a single choice; he was learning that it's safe to be himself.
As parents and educators, perhaps one of our most important tasks is to create more of these moments. To ask not just "What do you think?" but "What do YOU really think?" To make it safe for our children to answer honestly. To show them that while we care deeply about their choices, we care even more about their ability to make choices that reflect their authentic selves.
Because ultimately, the goal isn't to raise children who make us happy. It's to raise children who know how to find their own happiness, who trust their own judgment, and who have the courage to choose their own path - even when that path differs from what we might have chosen for them.
These conversations aren't always easy. They require us to examine our own expectations, to manage our own emotions, to accept that our children's choices might not always align with our hopes for them. But they're essential conversations if we want to raise children who grow into adults who know and trust themselves.
Last night's simple exchange with my son wasn't just about one answer to one question. It was about laying the groundwork for a lifetime of authentic choices. Because someday, the questions won't be small ones. They'll be about colleges, careers, relationships, and life paths. And when those moments come, I want my son to have had plenty of practice in listening to his own voice.
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