We went to the zoo today.
Ironically, the animals weren’t the highlight.
The older kids were more interested in the rope course than the lions, giraffes, or zebras. Somewhere along the way, my children evolved from kids who enjoy sightseeing into kids who want experiences.
While we were having lunch, I found myself talking to my eldest daughter about her life.
Who was coming over.
Which friends she was still close to.
Which friendship had quietly drifted apart.
Nothing dramatic.
Just one of those ordinary conversations that happen when you stay involved in your children’s lives.
To me, it felt normal.
What I didn’t realise was that my youngest brother was listening.
After my daughter left to join her siblings at KidzWorld, he turned to me and said:
“You did a good job.”
At first, I laughed.
But then he explained.
He told me he could see how involved I was in my children’s lives.
Not just their studies.
Their friendships.
Their interests.
Their activities.
The little details that make up their world.
Then he said something that stayed with me.
He told me that many children he knows seem to be struggling.
Some struggle academically.
Some struggle socially.
Some are less confident.
Some rarely seem interested in trying new things.
And as he spoke, I found myself thinking about my own children.
Not because they are perfect.
Far from it.
But because each of them has become their own person.
My eldest daughter used to be afraid of so many things.
Today, she confidently tackles rope courses and high elements.
Earlier this year during her P5 camp, she wasn’t afraid of the obstacle course.
She was annoyed there wasn’t enough time to complete all of it.
My second daughter has what I jokingly call main character energy.
She doesn’t ask if something is possible.
She assumes it is and starts discussing the logistics.
She doesn’t ask:
“Can we go to a BTS concert one day?”
She asks:
“So when are we going?”
My eldest son pushed himself through a rope course that was physically challenging for him.
Some obstacles were harder because of his height.
Near the end, he cried and wanted to stop.
But he kept trying.
And when he was done, I told him I was proud of him.
Not because he completed every obstacle.
But because he persevered when it became difficult.
And my youngest?
He climbed up, looked around, realised the challenge was bigger than he expected, and decided he wasn’t ready.
Some people might see that as quitting.
I don’t.
I see a little boy who was brave enough to try.
What struck me later was that none of these traits appeared overnight.
Confidence.
Resilience.
Curiosity.
Independence.
They are built slowly.
Through conversations.
Through experiences.
Through opportunities to try, fail, try again, and discover who they are.
I often think back to my own school camp.
When it came time to do the high elements course, I was the only one who chose not to do it.
Nobody mocked me.
Nobody shamed me.
But the embarrassment stayed with me.
I remember wishing I had been braver.
Perhaps that’s one reason I’ve always exposed my children to these experiences.
Rock climbing.
Rope courses.
Outdoor activities.
Not because I need them to be fearless.
But because I want fear to feel familiar.
Something they can face instead of something that controls them.
Maybe that’s why my brother’s compliment meant so much.
Because parenting often feels invisible.
People notice grades.
They notice achievements.
They notice confidence.
What they don’t see are the thousands of small moments that build those things.
The conversations over lunch.
The questions asked in the car.
The discussions about friends.
The encouragement after a difficult obstacle.
The reassurance after a child decides they aren’t ready.
The relationship comes first.
Everything else grows from there.
And perhaps that was what my brother noticed.
Not perfect children.
Not perfect parenting.
Just years of staying involved in their lives.
And maybe that is what parenting really is.
Showing up for the big moments.
Showing up for the small moments.
And staying curious about the people your children are becoming.
Ummi Noi