Parents Don’t Parent Anymore. They Compete.

There used to be a visible line between parents and children.

Not a cruel line. A line of responsibility. A line of wisdom. A line that said: I’ve already walked through this stage of life, so my job is to prepare you for what’s ahead.

Now?

Parents and kids dress alike, talk alike, dance alike, listen to the same music, shop in the same stores go to the same clubs, use the same slang, and fight for the same attention online.

Half the time you can’t tell who’s raising who. It's time to stop trading wisdom for trends.

Parents used to embarrass kids because they were “old.” Now some parents are terrified of looking old. Terrified of aging. Terrified of being disconnected from youth culture. So instead of guiding the next generation, they chase it.

Everybody wants to be young forever. Nobody wants to be the elder anymore.

And children suffer because of it. A child does not need another friend.

A child needs structure.
A child needs correction.
A child needs protection.
A child needs perspective.

Most importantly, a child needs somebody willing to say:
“No.”
“That’s wrong.”
“You can do better.”
“Here’s who you are.”
“Here’s where you come from.”

But modern parenting increasingly revolves around comfort and image instead of preparation.

Parents are recording dances with children instead of reading with them.
Buying expensive shoes while schools fail them academically.
Keeping up with trends while kids grow up emotionally lost.

This problem becomes even more dangerous in Black communities because identity is already under attack from every direction.

If schools remove Black history or water it down into a few sanitized paragraphs every February, then where are Black children supposed to learn about themselves?

Where do they learn about:

• The kingdoms that existed before slavery?
• Black inventors and scientists?
• Black resistance movements?
• Economic independence?
• Community building?
• Media literacy?
• Why certain systems exist the way they do?

If home doesn’t teach it and school won’t teach it, then social media will. And social media is a terrible teacher. Algorithms raise more children than grandparents now.

That should terrify people.

A generation that does not know its history becomes easy to manipulate. Easy to market to. Easy to distract. Easy to divide. If all a child learns about Blackness comes from entertainment, celebrity culture, trauma, and consumerism, then they begin to confuse visibility with identity.

Representation is not the same thing as education.

Seeing successful Black entertainers matters. But if every conversation begins and ends with athletes, rappers, influencers, and viral moments, children start believing success only exists in narrow forms.

Where are the conversations about:

• Black architects?
• Farmers?
• Educators?
• Engineers?
• Organizers?
• Historians?
• Ownership?
• Discipline?
• Family legacy?

Some parents know every lyric to the newest songs but cannot explain who Marcus Garvey was.
Cannot explain Ida B. Wells.
Cannot explain Carter G. Woodson.
Cannot explain why the Tulsa Race Massacre matters.

That is not just an educational problem. It is a spiritual problem.

Children without historical grounding search for identity in trends. Trends change every six months. Identity should survive generations.

None of this means parents must become robotic authority figures disconnected from culture. Parents can enjoy music. Have style. Be modern. Be relatable.

But parenting requires distance.

Not emotional distance. Not cruelty. Perspective.

The parent should not be racing their child to stay young. They should be preparing their child to grow wisely.

Somewhere, adulthood became unfashionable. Responsibility became “boring.” Wisdom became less valuable than relevance.

And now society has millions of adults desperate to be seen, while millions of children desperately need guidance.

A culture survives when elders teach. Not when elders imitate.

Children do not need parents who can go viral. They need parents who can lead.

Let the church say, "Amen."

Stop Making Decisions From Ego

There’s a bill that shows up long after the argument ends. Long after the door slams.

It’s the cost of ego.

Ego is expensive. Not in theory, but in real life. It ruins friendships over pride. It destroys marriages over stubbornness. It ends partnerships over who gets credit (see Jimmy Johnson and Jerry Jones if you're a Dallas Cowboys fan). 

And the wild part? Most of the damage starts over something small—who was right, who said it first, who gets acknowledged.

We tell ourselves it’s about principles. About standards. About respect. But if we’re honest, a lot of the time it’s about winning. And winning is overrated when it costs you what actually matters.

The ability to pause and ask, “What outcome do I actually want here?” Because if your need to be right outweighs your desire to be effective, you’re not winning—you’re posturing. You’re protecting your image instead of protecting the relationship, the mission, or the long-term result.

Ego loves the short-term victory. Humility plays the long game.

Ego says, “Don’t let that slide.”
Humility says, “Is this worth the friction?”

Ego says, “They need to know I was right.”
Humility says, “We need to move forward.”

The strongest leaders I’ve seen aren’t obsessed with credit. They’re obsessed with progress. They care more about solving the problem than being the hero who solved it. That mindset changes rooms. It lowers defenses. It invites collaboration instead of competition.

Sometimes maturity sounds like, “You’re right.” Even when it bruises you. Even when a part of you wants to add a footnote. Even when you could technically argue your side and maybe even win.

Because the goal isn’t to win the moment. It’s to win the outcome.

Ego will convince you that conceding makes you smaller. In reality, it makes you trusted. It makes you safe to work with. It makes you someone people don’t have to brace themselves around.

And that’s invaluable.

The truth is, most of us don’t lose opportunities because we lack intelligence. We lose them because we lack restraint. Because we couldn’t let something go. Because we had to make a point. Because we needed acknowledgment more than we needed alignment.

If you want better decisions, start with a better question: Am I trying to be effective, or am I trying to be right?