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The Parent’s Hardest Job: Staying Silent
How biting my tongue during my six-year-old’s learning journey transformed us both
My daughter’s pencil scratches against paper at our kitchen table. I’m sitting close enough to feel the warmth of her small body as she hunches over her notebook, tongue slightly poking out from the corner of her mouth in concentration. Then it happens — she writes “mariposa” (butterfly) but flips the “s” completely backward. My index finger lifts instantly from the table, ready to point. My chest tightens. The words form in my throat: “Cariño, esa ‘s’ está al revés.” (Sweetie, that ‘s’ is backward.)
But I don’t say them.
Instead, I grip the edge of the wooden table until my knuckles turn white, watching her continue writing with absolute focus, completely unaware of my internal struggle.
Before this moment, I was a father who couldn’t let a mistake slide. Not even one letter.
Three months earlier, we sat at this same table. Amara was writing her first story about “unicornios” (unicorns) and “castillos mágicos” (magical castles). I hovered beside her, pointing out every error: “Esa ‘p’ está al revés.” (That ‘p’ is backward.) “Te falta la ‘h’ en ‘había.’” (You’re missing the ‘h’ in ‘había’.) “¿Recuerdas cómo se escribe ‘mágico’?” (Remember…
