The Parenting Paradox

Over the weekend, I had a thought-provoking discussion with friends about parenting in Nigeria. The conversation made me reflect on how much has changed and how much we might be getting wrong.  

Growing up, the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child" wasn’t just a saying; it was a lived reality. Neighbours corrected you, aunties and uncles scolded you, and even strangers felt entitled to guide you (much to our annoyance back then). There was an unspoken agreement that raising children was a collective responsibility.  

Today, parenting feels more like a solo mission. Everyone is hyper-vigilant about their own child. We keep them indoors, shield them from “bad influences,” and micromanage their social lives. The irony? In trying to protect them, we might actually be stunting them.

A recurring theme in our discussion was the fear of other badly raised children corrupting our own. Parents pull their kids from group activities, avoid certain schools, and restrict friendships—all in the name of moral insulation. But who exactly is a “badly raised” child? Is it the one who talks back? The one who questions authority? The teenage girl trying to appear more grown-up? Or is it just code for “a child not raised by my standards”?

The truth is, no child is immune to influence. Teenagers, especially, are shapeshifters; they adapt to their environments, mirror behaviors, and test boundaries. A child who seems perfect at home can be an entirely different person among peers. The real issue isn’t just external exposure, but whether we’ve prepared our children to handle what they encounter. Internal readiness matters just as much as external control.

We often pride ourselves on being "present" parents because we are physically around and financially providing. But presence isn’t just about proximity; it’s about engagement.  

Too many adults struggle with basic communication. They cannot hold meaningful conversations with their peers, let alone with children who are still figuring out the world. If a parent spends little time speaking with (not at) their child, that child will seek understanding elsewhere, such as their peers, social media, or even fictional characters.  

I like that there’s a growing push for parents to buy books for their children. It's great! But there’s a dangerous assumption that a child who reads will automatically turn out morally upright. I find this laughable. If you have never met a well-read psychopath, pray never to. A well-read child can still be rebellious, manipulative, or even cruel. Literacy doesn’t equate to virtue.  

The real value in reading (or any activity) lies in the discussions that follow. A child who reads Lord of the Flies without guidance might romanticize chaos rather than morality. The difference is whether parents engage with their children’s minds, not just their habits.  

I’ve come to a troubling conclusion: Parents fear their children picking up bad habits because, deep down, they know they haven’t filled their children’s minds with enough substance. If a child has no strong foundation, i.e., no framework for critical thinking, discernment, or self-regulation, they become blank slates, absorbing whatever is most consistently loud and closest.

If we constantly speak with our children, not just lecture them, they develop the ability to interrogate ideas. They learn that it’s okay to ask why, to disagree, to seek clarity. But if every conversation is a one-sided sermon, children learn to nod along while their real learning happens elsewhere. I deliberately use 'speak' instead of 'teach' because teaching often implies a hierarchy—one person knows, the other listens. But speaking is reciprocal. It’s an exchange where questions are welcomed, ignorance is admitted, and curiosity is nurtured.  

A child who feels safe asking, "But why is that wrong?" without fear of scolding is a child who will think critically. A parent who says, "I don’t know, let’s find out together," teaches humility and the value of learning. But when parents position themselves as know-it-all, aka, 'I too know', children either rebel or become excellent pretenders.  

Any parent with more than one child knows: children are unique. Raised in the same home, they still turn out differently. You might raise one model child and another who leaves you considering a DNA test. You can blame the world, but deep down, most of us know we didn’t raise them exactly the same. Life got busy. Energy faded. And sometimes, we relied on what worked for the first child, hoping it would fit the rest.

This isn’t judgment; it’s just reality. The housewife or house-husband also feels this fatigue. At some point, we all begin to repeat parenting patterns out of habit, not intention.

So maybe the real threat isn’t social media, peer pressure, or “bad friends.” Those are inevitable. The real issue is that we’ve forgotten how to talk to our children, and more importantly, how to listen.

This is the one consistency we must fight to preserve, no matter how many children we have or how exhausted life makes us. If we want to help them recognise what safety looks like in people, actions, and decisions, we have to keep showing up in conversations, not just in authority.

Never assume that schoolteachers, aunties, uncles, or older siblings are filling this gap. Only you know the kind of human you hope your child becomes, and only you can begin setting that tone.