Heidi Ahihi

There is a particular kind of parental love I grew up seeing everywhere.

The parents don’t buy new clothes because the child needs something.

They eat whatever is left because the child should have the best piece.

They work overtime so the child doesn’t have to worry about money.

The child wants something expensive?

Thôi, mua cho nó đi.

Just buy it for them.

The parents can go without.

And when people ask why, the answer is almost always some version of:

“As long as my child has a better life than I did.”

It is difficult to criticize that kind of love.

Because from the parent’s side, it is sacrifice.

But I’ve been thinking about something uncomfortable:

Does experiencing someone’s sacrifice automatically teach us to appreciate it?

I’m not sure it does.

Sometimes a child looks at exhausted parents and thinks:

My parents have done so much for me.

But what if another child simply grows up thinking:

This is how life works.

My food comes first.

My preferences determine what the family does.

If I want something badly enough, eventually somebody gives it to me.

Other people sacrifice.

I receive.

Not because the child is bad.

Because that is the system they have been learning from.

Children don’t arrive knowing gratitude

We sometimes talk about gratitude as though good children naturally possess it and selfish children somehow don’t.

But small children begin life necessarily centered on themselves.

A baby cries because the baby is hungry.

The baby doesn’t think:

Mother appears exhausted tonight. Perhaps I should postpone this feeding.

That would be a very concerning baby.

Young children gradually develop increasingly sophisticated abilities to understand other people’s perspectives, regulate impulses, recognize needs beyond their own, and participate in reciprocal relationships.

In other words, consideration is something that develops.

And adults help teach it.

Not through one lecture about being grateful.

Through thousands of ordinary interactions.

Consider the family dinner table

One of the graphics I recently saw argued that families shouldn’t routinely serve the child first while everyone else waits.

At first, I thought the claim sounded too simplistic.

Because obviously, serving a child first does not create an entitled adult.

Sometimes the child is hungry.

Sometimes the food needs to cool down.

Sometimes it’s simply convenient.

Family customs differ.

There is no psychological law saying:

Child receives first bowl of rice → narcissism at age 27.

But underneath the exaggerated claim is a question worth keeping.

What does the child experience repeatedly?

Suppose dinner is almost ready.

The child demands food immediately.

The parent drops everything and serves them.

The child finishes and leaves the table without helping.

Nobody asks them to wait.

Nobody asks them to consider whether everyone else has eaten.

Nobody gradually expects them to contribute as they become capable.

The important variable isn’t who received rice first.

It’s the family structure underneath it.

Does the child experience themselves as one member of a family?

Or as the person around whom the family operates?

Those are very different lessons.

Sacrifice is not self-explanatory

This may be the hardest part.

Parents know what their sacrifices cost.

Children often don’t.

A mother sees the dress she didn’t buy herself.

The child sees the shoes they received.

A father remembers the extra shifts he worked.

The child remembers going on vacation.

Parents experience:

I gave something up so you could have this.

The child may simply experience:

I have this.

That isn’t necessarily ingratitude.

It may simply mean the sacrifice was invisible.

And perhaps this is where some parents become heartbroken years later.

We gave you everything.

They expected the giving itself to communicate:

Look how deeply we love you.

But the child may have learned a completely different lesson:

People who love me give me what I want.

That is not the same lesson.

Maybe children shouldn’t receive everything we can give

This sounds almost cruel until we distinguish needs from wants.

A child needs food.

Safety.

Healthcare.

Affection.

Education.

Attention.

Stability.

Belonging.

But a child does not need every toy they request.

They don’t need the newest phone because their friend has one.

They don’t need every inconvenience removed.

They don’t need to win every disagreement.

They don’t need adults to reorganize the household whenever they become unhappy.

And perhaps one of the strangest privileges of having enough is learning that:

We can afford it

doesn’t automatically mean

we should buy it.

Because adulthood contains limits even for people with money.

Time is limited.

Attention is limited.

Other people’s patience is limited.

Resources are limited.

Relationships involve competing needs.

Learning to live with limits isn’t deprivation.

It is preparation for living among other humans.

“No” is not the opposite of love

I think this is where loving parents sometimes struggle.

A child asks for something.

The parent says no.

The child becomes upset.

And now the parent is upset because the child is upset.

So the answer changes.

Fine.

Just this time.

Take it.

Stop crying.

Everyone feels better.

Until next time.

This creates a fascinating learning loop.

The child learns:

Persistence can turn no into yes.

And the parent learns:

Giving in makes this uncomfortable situation disappear.

Neither person consciously designed the pattern.

But both are participating in it.

Boundaries are built – or weakened- in moments exactly like these.

A boundary doesn’t require anger.

It doesn’t require humiliation.

It doesn’t require:

“Because I said so.”

Sometimes it simply means:

“I know you’re disappointed. The answer is still no.”

That sentence contains something surprisingly important.

Your feelings matter.

And the boundary remains.

Both can be true.

A child should have a voice

This is where I disagree strongly with some traditional ideas of “well-behaved children.”

Teaching consideration does not mean teaching unquestioning obedience.

A child should be allowed to say:

I don’t like this.

I’m angry.

I think that’s unfair.

Can you explain why?

I don’t want to hug that person.

I need privacy.

I disagree.

Those aren’t automatically signs of disrespect.

In fact, I would rather raise a child capable of respectfully disagreeing with adults than one trained to obey every authority figure without question.

The distinction I care about is between:

having a voice

and

believing your voice is the only one that matters.

A healthy family needs room for both the child’s needs and everyone else’s.

Privilege makes more sense when paired with participation

One of the graphics suggested that privileges should come with responsibilities.

That idea interests me much more than punishment.

Not:

You must earn my love.

Never that.

Love should not be conditional on performance.

But participation in family life can gradually expand as a child grows.

You live here.

So do we.

We take care of this place together.

Maybe a young child puts toys away.

Later they carry their dishes to the sink.

They help fold laundry.

They feed the dog.

They help prepare dinner.

They learn to notice when someone else needs assistance.

Not because parents need free labor.

Because contribution teaches something receiving cannot:

I matter to this family because of what I bring to it too.

That can be powerful.

A child isn’t merely a recipient of family love.

They become a participant in it.

Gratitude is easier to understand when we practice reciprocity

Imagine a child watching a parent cook dinner.

They could simply receive the plate.

Or perhaps, as they become old enough, they set the table.

Someone cooks.

Someone pours water.

Someone cleans afterward.

Someone asks:

Did everybody get enough?

Now the meal teaches something beyond nutrition.

It teaches awareness.

There are other people at this table.

They have needs too.

I can receive care.

I can also give care.

And perhaps that is one of the deepest differences between being loved and learning how to love.

Children deserve enormous amounts of love.

But eventually they also need opportunities to practice giving it.

Modeling may matter more than lecturing

Parents can tell a child:

Be grateful.

But children are watching what adults do.

How does Dad speak to the waiter?

How does Mom treat Grandma when she needs help?

Do the parents say thank you to each other?

Does anyone apologize after being wrong?

Does Dad act as though household work magically happens?

Does Mom sacrifice everything while everyone else casually accepts it?

Does the family help people only when they expect something in return?

Children are studying relationships long before they have vocabulary for any of this.

We cannot demand consideration while modeling entitlement ourselves.

We cannot teach gratitude exclusively through speeches.

Family culture is taught in repetition.

And yes, there is such a thing as giving too much

Psychologists sometimes use the term overindulgence for patterns in which children receive too much of something, receive things too early, or live within family structures where adults do too much for them or expect too little in return.

But even here, we should be careful.

Buying expensive shoes does not diagnose a parenting problem.

Letting a child skip chores one week doesn’t ruin their character.

Serving them first doesn’t make them selfish.

Human development doesn’t work through little moral equations.

What matters is the broader pattern.

Can the child tolerate disappointment?

Are reasonable limits maintained?

Do they gradually take responsibility?

Are other people’s needs visible to them?

Are they expected to repair harm when they hurt someone?

Do they contribute?

Can they hear no without interpreting it as withdrawal of love?

Those questions tell us much more than the price of their sneakers.

Sacrifice can also become a debt

There is another side of this that deserves attention, especially in families where parental sacrifice is deeply valued.

Parents shouldn’t give endlessly and then hand the child an invisible invoice twenty years later.

I sacrificed my whole life for you.

Therefore you owe me this career.

This marriage.

This money.

This obedience.

This version of adulthood.

That’s not the kind of reciprocity I’m talking about.

A child should learn gratitude.

But they shouldn’t be raised to believe their existence created a debt they can never repay.

Parents chose to become parents.

Children can honor sacrifice without surrendering ownership of their adult lives.

That boundary matters too.

So should parents stop sacrificing?

No.

Sometimes sacrifice is exactly what love requires.

Parents wake up at impossible hours.

They spend money they’d rather keep.

They lose sleep.

They rearrange careers.

They sit beside sick children.

They do thousands of things their children may not understand until they become adults themselves.

There is something profoundly beautiful about that.

I just don’t think sacrifice, by itself, teaches what parents sometimes hope it will teach.

If we want children to understand consideration, perhaps they need to practice consideration.

If we want them to understand responsibility, they need responsibility.

If we want them to understand limits, they need to encounter limits.

If we want them to appreciate other people’s labor, perhaps they need opportunities to contribute labor themselves.

If we want them to become people who care for others, they need to experience themselves not only as people worthy of care, but also as people capable of caring.

Maybe love isn’t giving children the center of the world

Maybe it’s giving them a secure place within it.

A place where their needs matter enormously.

But other people’s needs matter too.

Where they are listened to.

But they also learn to listen.

Where they receive.

And gradually learn to give.

Where they can disagree.

But not degrade.

Where they have privileges.

And responsibilities.

Where they know they are deeply loved even when the answer is no.

Perhaps that is one of the hardest balances in parenting.

We want children to grow up knowing:

I matter.

But eventually they also need to discover:

Other people matter too.

And maybe raising a considerate human being happens somewhere between those two sentences.

Because giving a child everything we have may demonstrate how much we love them.

Teaching them how to notice, contribute, respect boundaries, repair harm and care for other people is how we help them learn what to do with all that love once it becomes theirs.