Explaining logic to Millennials

"I see you all sitting there smugly, politely listening to what I am trying to explain. But are you actually hearing what I am saying". Myra (me) paused a moment from her life lesson to her grown children...their attitude a slight annoyance to her.

"Yes Mother, we are". The adult kids intoned in unison, rolling their eyes behind her back, smiling politely to her face, but neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I know you're not all rolling those eyes when I am not looking". She admonished them.

"Of course not mom, we wouldn't dream of it". The oldest, Mikiali answered seriously, not wanting to awaken her sharp tongue.

"Hmmm, I wonder"! She mused, eyeing them questioningly.

Anyway, as I was saying...I was raised in the 1960s and 70s and I didn't develop grit because life was harder - it took time and some harsh lessons for me to acquire a thick skin - because no adult was monitoring my failures closely enough to rescue me from the consequences.

We may have been the last generation whose parents loved us enough (or were just too busy making a life for us) to let us fail completely on our own, and that accidental gift of inattention taught us something modern helicopter parenting never could.

"Hold on, hold on Mom. Aren't you the queen of helicopter parenting". Mikiali said.

"She sure is". Desta, the youngest, the female member of the trio piped in.

"Mom, it's true". Tafari added.

"I mean...you keep a spreadsheet of everyone’s sleep schedules, cross-referenced with hydration levels and emotional tone. You texts reminders like “Did you eat a vegetable today?” and “Remember, caffeine after 2 p.m. disrupts REM.” You install GPS trackers “for safety,” but also check them hourly. You actually go to our homes to pre-wash your adult children’s laundry “because detergent residue can irritate skin”. No matter how much we ask you not to. You call professors to “clarify expectations,” email landlords to “confirm rent was processed,” and leave laminated checklists in glove compartments labeled... Emergency Logic Protocols.

"Yes Mom, it's true. Your love is absolute, your control encyclopedic. Even your hugs come with instructions: “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth...good choices start with oxygen.” Desta agreed.

"Wow! You didn't even take a breath there Tafari, thank you Desta. I may have to leave you all alone after today". Their mother was simmering under all of the feigned attempt at control. They all knew it.

No one spoke a word. Their mother continued as if there had been no interruption to her previous lesson in logic.

"Why does it seem that parental monitoring of children's daily activities has increased by roughly 600% since 1970, while measures of childhood independence have dropped to historic lows. The average child in the 1960s spent several unsupervised hours per day navigating conflicts, boredom, and minor crises alone. Today, that number hovers near zero".

"Uh uh. Mom, this all sounds rather paradoxical. I'm not sure if you are speaking for or against yourself or us". Said Desta.

"Just listen for a minute". Myra said.

These numbers tell a story that most people get wrong. The assumption is that earlier generations developed grit because life was harder. There were no seatbelts, there was lead paint and walking uphill both ways to school. But the data points somewhere else entirely.

The truth is much simpler and much more unsettling. We developed grit because no adult was watching closely enough to prevent us from needing it. But today there are multiple ways to assist our children to survive. The world has become a very dangerous place.

"Mom, the world has always been a dangerous place. It just wears different faces for every generation. Yes, back in the day you could sleep with your door open. But dangers existed elsewhere, like the lack of modern inventions which save lives...people die from different causes...but death is still death, and danger exists in all different forms". Mikiali had studied psychology and was passionate about his area of choice.

"We appreciate you always looking out for us mom...but we have had to fight hard to adjust to life with kids who didn't have a parent like you, or a dad who always had to be the referee when you overprotected us. We have had to learn to fight our way out of the bullying and the growing pains of 'being spoilt' as we were constantly being teased. We kept most of that from you". Tafari explained a bit sadly.

"But why would you not tell me this"? Myra asked, stunned.

"Because you would have made it worse by going to school to fight for us, further embarrassing us". Desta answered.

"So now I am an embarrassment to you all". Their mother was getting mad.

"That's not what we are saying, mom".

But Myra was beyond reasoning with.

Last week, my granddaughter, your child Mikiali, called me in tears. She'd forgotten her science project at home, and within minutes, three adults were mobilizing. Her mother racing back home, your father calling the teacher, me being recruited to deliver it to school. The entire rescue operation took less than twenty minutes.

That kind of coordination would have been unthinkable in my childhood.

When I forgot my book report in sixth grade, I sat through Mrs. Hawthorn's class knowing I'd get a zero. No one called anyone. No one negotiated. I failed, I felt the shame, and I never forgot another assignment. That private reckoning with my own carelessness taught me more about responsibility than any lecture could have.

My mother worked as a dressmaker, a seamstress...while raising four children, most nights she got just a few hours of sleep. When I came home with a bloody knee from falling off my bike, she'd glance up from her sewing machine and say, "Well, clean it up then." No drama, no rush to the emergency room, no incident report. Just me, some iodine, and the understanding that not every hurt required an adult intervention.

This wasn't neglect. It was a different philosophy of care. Our parents loved us deeply, but they loved us from a distance that allowed us to experience the natural consequences of our choices. They were lighthouse keepers, offering guidance from afar but letting us navigate our own rough waters.

"I am kind of sorry that that philosophy disappeared Mom. Parents went from asking "What did you do?" when their child failed, to asking, "How could you let this happen?" The entire architecture of childhood shifted from independence to surveillance, from natural consequences to negotiated outcomes. I am not entirely sure that I dislike that old fashioned kind of parenting". Tafari spoke wistfully.

"Are you all saying that I failed you, somehow"? Their mother was obviously getting flustered.

"No Mom. We are just comparing and making observations...remember that we are all adults now...some of us have our own children and we need to find the best course of action to raise them as independent as you are suggesting". Desta didn't yet have any kids, but learning early was a sensible way to go.

Myra took a deep breath. "I learned from unwitnessed struggles. I just didn't want you all to do the same.

When I was fourteen, I got into a fight with my best friend that lasted three months. No parent intervened. No counselor mediated. We avoided each other, suffered through the loneliness, and eventually figured out how to apologize without a structured resolution process. That messy, painful process taught me more about friendship and forgiveness than any adult-guided conversation could have.

"That's what we are saying Mom. Researchers have found that grit, as you call it... particularly its subcomponents 'Consistency of Interests' and 'Perseverance of Effort', are associated with 'practice accumulation in sports', suggesting that grit influences how athletes engage in practice over time. But what they don't mention is that grit develops best when nobody's watching to make sure you stick with it. When quitting means facing your own disappointment, not letting down a team of invested adults.

Today's children rarely experience unmonitored struggle. Every conflict has a mediator, every failure has a safety net, every disappointment has a committee of adults ready to soften the blow. The parents of our generation have confused constant monitoring with good parenting and surveillance with safety". Mikaili explained.

"It seems there are unexpected benefits to benign neglect. Children were largely left to figure things out on their own, for better or worse, maybe that was not such a bad thing". Desta mused.

"Hold on, hold on Desta. I don't think that I wanted to figure it all out on my own...I kind of appreciate a lot of what Mom did when I was younger". Tafari chuckled.

"Well, at least one of you appreciated my efforts, thank you Tafari".

Desta kicked her brother's leg under the table causing him to yelp in pain.

"We all appreciate you Mom. We stack our plates and wipe down the table before leaving a restaurant, not to impress anyone - we just never forgot what it felt like to be the one who had to clean up after each other, and that's thanks to what we learned from you. Our behavior simply reflect your values back at us". Desta tried to mollify the tone of the conversation.

"Very true Mom. Because of you, we are adult children who call you and Dad without a reason - just to talk, just to hear your voice, checking that you are ok...you taught us care and consistency... we were children who felt like being ourselves in that parent’s presence was safe, and safe was not dramatic, it was just the one thing that determined everything", said Mikiali.

"Are you all just patronizing me now".

"Aw, Mom. It's as if there is no pleasing you at all right now". Desta frowned, her brows furrowing.

.........

Mom sat down, all were quiet for a while - each lost in their own form of reverie.

It's true...Myra said after a while. We weren't constantly photographed, tracked, or monitored. Our mistakes weren't documented on social media. Our failures weren't immediately addressed by teams of concerned adults. We climbed trees without helmets, settled disputes with our fists or our silence, wandered neighborhoods until the streetlights came on, and lied about where we'd been because the truth had real consequences. We rode bikes without knowing where we were going, came home with scrapes we never explained, built things that broke, broke things we never admitted to, and sat alone with our shame until we figured out how to move forward. That privacy was its own teacher. It gave us room to be foolish and then room to recover from the foolishness without an audience.

"Exactly". All three kids blurted out, laughing at themselves.

....

"Research suggests that grit and resilience are significantly related to mental health, academic performance, and quality of life in children with reading disorders, suggesting that these traits may help children face challenges and learn from their mistakes. But here's what the research doesn't say explicitly: You can't develop the ability to learn from mistakes if you're never allowed to make them fully, to feel their complete weight.

What would happen if we gave children back their privacy to fail. If we stopped tracking their every movement and monitoring their every interaction. If we allowed them to experience the full weight of their choices without immediately swooping in to lighten the load.

Maybe grit and growth mindset are distinct but mutually reinforcing traits during adolescence, suggesting that fostering these traits can help individuals develop resilience and learn from their failures. But you can't learn from failures that never fully happen, from consequences that never fully land", said Mikiali.

I see all of your points. My generation didn't develop grit through special programs or intentional parenting strategies. We developed it in the spaces between adult attention, in the moments when no one was watching, in the failures that no one witnessed or prevented. We learned to solve problems because no one was standing by with solutions. We learned to endure because no one was rushing to end our discomfort.

"Exactly, Mom. We love and appreciate you a great deal. But we believe we will try a different method with our children. Except for Desta, who swears not to have 'spoilt brats' as a part of her plans. Oops. sorry sis, the cat is out of the bag". Tafari had been sworn to secrecy and his sister gave him a baleful look.

"Is that true Desta. Still, in the spirit of our conversation, that is entirely your decision". Desta knew that the conversation was far from over. she felt like kicking Tafari again.

Luckily, their father walked in the door at that moment. HE NEVER HAD A MOMENT TO SAY HELLO TO THE CHILDREN. Before...

"Djimon. How come you never told me that the kids had been bullied and teased in school...had I known....

Their father rolled his eyes at them...a scolding question on his face.

"Ok, it's time to go". Tafari whispered, grabbing his jacket...everybody followed suit.

"I don't know if this lesson in logic made things better or worse". Mikiali said, feeling sorry for his father and the explanation he would have to concoct.

There were hugs all around.

"Love you guys". They all said, hurrying out the door.

"Sorry Dad". Desta said, as she squeezed between her brothers.

We love you too...Echoed behind them.

"Just listen Myra...

Thankfully, the door closed out the argument inside.

............................

Some excerpts from VegOut!