Yesterday was my firstborn's 27th birthday.
It was just the two of us at the dining table, talking about life. As parents, we often wonder if our children truly understand why we made certain decisions while raising them. Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of that answer.
Our conversation began with conflict management.
I shared with him the approach I have always taken whenever he or his siblings found themselves in trouble. Instead of spending too much time investigating why something happened, I would shift the focus to what needs to be done next.
"What is your plan?" was usually my first question.
I would listen to their ideas first before offering my thoughts. Then, we would walk through the plan together. Looking back, I suppose I was unknowingly applying the educational concept of scaffolding—providing guidance while gradually allowing them to take ownership of solving their own problems.
I hoped that one day they would understand why I parented that way.
Yesterday, I realised one of them already did.
Then he surprised me.
He told me that tennis had taught him conflict management.
He explained that whenever he was close to losing a match, dwelling on his previous mistakes would only make him lose the next point as well. Tennis doesn't stop to let you replay your regrets. The next serve is already coming.
Instead, he learned to ask himself, "What do I need to do now?"
He also shared something that struck me deeply.
A good tennis player doesn't only think about his own game. He learns to read his opponent, anticipate the next move and adjust his own strategy accordingly. Adaptability, he said, is what gives you the upper hand.
He believes sports is one of the best teachers of emotional regulation, conflict management and social skills.
As I listened, I smiled.
We had arrived at the same destination from two completely different directions.
As a teacher and a mother, I viewed conflict as an opportunity for guidance and growth.
As an athlete, he viewed conflict as the next point to be played wisely.
Different perspectives.
The same principle.
Our conversation also reminded me that there is a place for asking "Why?"
Just not first.
When emotions are running high, the better question is:
"What needs to be done now?"
Once the situation has settled, then comes the time to ask:
"Why did this happen?"
Not to assign blame.
Not to beat ourselves up.
But to learn.
For me, that reflection doesn't end there.
After learning comes surrender.
I sit quietly with my thoughts. I acknowledge my mistakes. I seek forgiveness from Allah for my shortcomings. I place my worries, fears and unanswered questions before Him.
Most importantly, I remind myself never to become ungrateful for whatever has happened.
Because "good" and "bad" are often only our worldly translations of events. Allah, in His infinite wisdom, knows what we cannot yet see.
That is why one phrase has become an anchor in my life:
Alhamdulillah 'ala kulli hal.
All praise is due to Allah in every circumstance.
It doesn't mean every circumstance is easy.
It means every circumstance carries wisdom, whether we understand it now or much later.
As I looked across the table yesterday, I realised something else.
Perhaps parenting isn't about raising children who think exactly like us.
Perhaps it is about raising adults who discover timeless truths through their own journeys.
My son found his lesson on a tennis court.
I found mine through motherhood.
Different classrooms.
The same Teacher.
Alhamdulillah.
