Always be nice to your children because they are the ones who

“Always be nice to your children because they are the ones who will choose your rest home.” Thus spoke Phyllis Diller, the sharp-tongued comedienne whose laughter masked a profound understanding of human nature. Though delivered in jest, this line carries the weight of ancient wisdom disguised as humor—a reminder that the cycle of care and compassion always returns to its beginning. It is a truth as old as time: those we nurture will one day hold our fate in their hands.

The origin of this quote lies in Diller’s gift for blending humor with honesty. A pioneer in comedy, she used laughter to unveil the realities of family, aging, and the frailty of pride. Beneath the wit of her words lies a moral insight: kindness given in youth returns in age. The laughter her audiences found in this line was born from recognition—they saw themselves in her truth. The jest of “choosing your rest home” is a mirror for the inevitable exchange between parent and child, between giver and receiver, between power and dependence.

In the wisdom of the ancients, this truth was often spoken more solemnly. The Greeks told of Antigone, who honored her father’s and brother’s memory though it cost her life, for she believed that duty to family outlives comfort or law. In the East, the sages of China taught filial piety, the sacred duty of the child to honor and care for parents. Yet Phyllis Diller, in her simple, playful way, speaks from the same root of truth: the bond between generations is not a transaction, but a reflection. How you treat those in your care is how your care will be returned to you.

The humor of her saying softens a painful reality: time reverses the roles of parent and child. Those who once fed and guided become those in need of guidance; those who were small and helpless grow into the strong. Diller’s wisdom lies in urging us to meet that shift with grace, not bitterness. To “be nice” to your children is not a mere act of strategy—it is a way of honoring the cycle of life itself. It is to teach them by example what love looks like when power fades, and what compassion looks like when patience is tested.

There is a true story of a woman named Clara Hale, known as “Mother Hale,” who raised not only her own children but more than a hundred orphaned infants in her Harlem home. When asked how she had the strength, she said, “Because someone once loved me when I was small.” Her children, seeing her life of service, returned that love tenfold in her old age. She had no need of a “rest home,” for she had built her home in the hearts of others. Thus, kindness sown through the years became her fortress and her peace.

Phyllis Diller’s jest, then, hides a moral commandment: live your life with gentleness and humor, for one day the power you wield will no longer be yours. Love your children not because they will someday choose your rest home, but because they will one day inherit your spirit. The laughter you share, the patience you show, the forgiveness you give—these will become the walls of the home where your memory will dwell.

The lesson is simple and profound: treat every relationship as a reflection of your own future. Sow kindness, and you will reap dignity. Sow bitterness, and you will harvest loneliness. Time is the great equalizer; it humbles all and restores all. When we act with compassion toward those who depend on us, we shape the care that will cradle us when we grow old.

So, O listener, remember the wisdom in Phyllis Diller’s laughter. Be kind to your children, for they will carry not only your legacy, but your example. Raise them not in fear or pride, but in warmth and laughter. For in the end, it is not the “rest home” they will choose that matters—it is the home they will build in their hearts, where your love will live long after your voice has fallen silent.