Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they

In the wise and piercing words of Robert Fulghum, we find a truth that resounds across generations: “Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.” This saying strips away the illusions of parenthood and teaching. It reminds us that words may pass through ears like wind through branches, but actions take root in the soul. The eyes of a child are windows wide open, recording, imitating, and absorbing every deed. Thus, the true education of the young is not given by lecture, but by the daily example of life lived before them.

The first half of the quote acknowledges a frustration well known to all mothers and fathers: children do not always seem to listen. Advice is ignored, commands are disobeyed, lessons are forgotten. Parents fear this, believing that their words fall uselessly into silence. But Fulghum reveals that this is not the true danger. For even if they ignore what is spoken, children never fail to observe what is done. They may disregard instructions, but they faithfully imitate habits.

History gives us countless examples of this truth. Consider the tale of Alexander the Great, who was taught philosophy by Aristotle himself. The young Alexander may not have listened to every lesson, but he watched closely his teacher’s way of life—the discipline of thought, the posture of inquiry. Later, when he commanded armies and ruled vast lands, the imprint of Aristotle’s life remained in him more deeply than the words alone. So too with every child: they will forget lectures, but they will remember the model they have seen lived before them.

This truth is at once hopeful and terrifying. Hopeful, because it means that our best chance to shape children lies not in eloquence but in integrity. Terrifying, because it means that our hidden flaws, our hypocrisies, our unguarded actions will be copied more faithfully than our best speeches. To live before children, then, is to live before mirrors that magnify not what we say, but who we are. Fulghum calls us to remember this weight, to act with awareness that small eyes are always upon us.

There is a story from the life of Mahatma Gandhi that illustrates this. A mother once brought her son to Gandhi, asking him to tell the boy to stop eating sugar. Gandhi paused and said, “Come back in two weeks.” When she returned, Gandhi looked at the boy and said, “Stop eating sugar.” The mother, astonished, asked why he had not said this earlier. Gandhi replied, “Because two weeks ago, I myself was eating sugar.” He knew the lesson would not take root unless it was first lived. This is the heart of Fulghum’s wisdom: children believe not what we say, but what we embody.

The lesson for us is thus: speak less, live better. Do not fret that your children do not heed your words; instead, concern yourself with the example you give them daily. If you wish them to be kind, be kind yourself. If you wish them to be honest, let them never see deceit upon your lips. If you wish them to work hard, let them see diligence in your own hands. The silent sermon of your life will teach more deeply than a thousand words.

Practical actions follow from this wisdom. Begin by examining yourself—what do your actions declare when no lecture is spoken? Practice integrity in small things, for children notice what adults dismiss. Let your daily habits become the lessons you long to impart. And above all, be mindful that the young are not just hearing you, they are inheriting you. You are the book they are reading, the song they are memorizing, the map they are tracing for their own journey.

Thus, the teaching of Robert Fulghum stands as an eternal call to parents, teachers, and elders alike: do not be consumed with the failure of your words, but tremble at the power of your example. For children are always watching, and through their eyes, your life becomes the blueprint of their future. Let that blueprint be worthy.