A parentologist is a person who writes a book about parenting

Clyde Edgerton, with his wry humor and his gift for observation, once declared: “A parentologist is a person who writes a book about parenting that is very clear about answers to, ‘How am I supposed to raise my child?’ Some of these well-intentioned people may be a bit too sure-footed on the sometimes slippery slope of parenting.” In these words, he draws attention to the mystery and the difficulty of raising children. For though countless books, guides, and doctrines have been written, no manual can fully contain the storm and subtlety of a child’s growth. Parenting is not a science with fixed laws, but a living art—shaped by love, humility, and the unending unpredictability of life.

The image of the slippery slope is fitting. Parenting is a path filled with sudden turns, unseen dangers, and fragile steps. To walk it with too much certainty may lead to pride, while to walk it with too much fear may lead to paralysis. The so-called experts—those Edgerton calls “parentologists”—often promise clear answers. Yet clarity can be a mirage. For what works with one child may fail with another. The child’s heart is not a formula, but a living flame, and each flame requires its own tending.

History reminds us of this truth. Consider Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who in the 18th century wrote Émile, or On Education, a book that sought to provide definitive wisdom on raising a child. His words influenced generations of thinkers, but in his own life, Rousseau abandoned his children to a foundling home, never raising them himself. His philosophy was celebrated, but his practice faltered. This tragic contradiction reveals the danger Edgerton speaks of: when theory runs too far ahead of lived reality, wisdom may become arrogance.

The heart of Edgerton’s teaching is that parenting cannot be mastered through words alone. Advice, however well-intentioned, must always be tested by patience, compassion, and the unique needs of the child before you. To follow a rigid set of rules without humility is to risk slipping on the very slope one wishes to climb. True wisdom requires flexibility, an openness to learn, and a willingness to admit when one does not know the answer. The greatest teacher in parenting is often not the book, but the child himself.

And yet, Edgerton does not scorn those who try to help. He calls them “well-intentioned.” Their zeal reflects the longing of humanity to make sense of this most difficult of tasks. Their confidence may inspire, but it must be tempered with caution. The wise parent knows that certainty is dangerous when the ground is shifting, and that humility is the companion of endurance.

The lesson for future generations is clear: seek guidance, but hold it lightly. Listen to the words of sages and experts, but do not worship them. Instead, observe your child, for in their laughter, tears, and silence, they will reveal what no book can teach. Parenting is not about mastering a script, but about cultivating a presence—steadfast, loving, and ready to adapt to the moment.

Therefore, take this path with reverence. Read if you must, but live more. Seek advice, but hold to love. Beware of those who claim to have every answer, for their steps may be too sure on the slippery slope. Instead, walk with humility, walk with patience, and walk with faith that though you will stumble, your child will not remember every slip, but the steady hand that guided them forward.

Thus, Edgerton’s voice becomes a timeless warning and a gentle comfort: there is no perfect manual for raising a child, for the true manual is written in the daily moments of trial and tenderness. And those who walk the path humbly, with love in their hearts, will find that even if their steps are imperfect, the journey leads to wisdom.