In this segment of Raising Tracy, I must admit — this one stretched me. Bent me emotionally. I got the call. The kind no parent wants to get. My son’s teacher, calm and kind as always, rang to inform me about an incident he’d been involved in at school.

Now, I won’t go into the details here — the internet has a long memory, and my child deserves the dignity of growing up without his missteps catalogued online. One day he might read this and I want him to know: I understand. And more importantly, I support him in learning from his mistakes.

The teacher and I were both a little puzzled. Whatever had happened, it didn’t sound like him. Yes, he’s the king of chatter — Mr 100 words per second, much like his mother — but he’s also kind-hearted, considerate, and honestly, he’d rather talk you to sleep than hurt anyone’s feelings.

So, I confronted him. Sat down, calm voice, gentle tone. “Tell mommy what happened.” Flat denial. Nothing. Nada. But then Dad walked in with that look and that voice — not angry, just firm — and suddenly, the truth spilled out.

“Yes, Mommy, I did it… but…” And there it was. The pause. “My friend told me to say it.”

That moment cracked my heart just a little. Because yes, our gut feelings — his teacher’s and mine — were both right and wrong. He did say what we hoped he hadn’t, but he didn’t do it out of malice. He did it because someone else told him to.

Now don’t get me wrong — this is not me brushing it aside. We didn’t sugar coat it. We repeated the words back to him, gently but clearly. We asked him how it made him feel. He said: “Sad and angry.”

So we followed through — the consequence was clear. Favourite toys? Taken. Sweet treats? Off the table for a week. But more importantly, we sat him down for the talk. Not the one about bees or birds — the one about peer pressure. About how it’s okay to say no. About how just because a friend tells you to do something, doesn’t mean it’s right. Doesn’t mean you should.

“You have your own mind,” we told him. “You must always listen to your heart and your head. Be brave enough to walk away.”

Then he asked something that stopped me in my tracks: “Can I tell my teacher if someone tells me to do something bad?” “Of course, my boy. She’s your second mommy — your mommy at school.” “And can I apologise to the child?” “That is the very best thing you can do.”

And off he went, backpack on, head a little higher. Ready to face his mistake. Own it. Learn from it. That, to me, is parenting’s quiet reward. The messy moments that lead to something golden.

Moral of the story? Raising children isn’t about perfection. It’s about helping them find their compass. And when they fall — as they will — it’s about showing them how to stand back up, say sorry, and walk forward a little wiser.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus 

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