Giving kids whatever they ask for is disastrous parenting.

The words of Ewan McGregor—“Giving kids whatever they ask for is disastrous parenting. There's no sense of something earned. I'm sorry, but when you're 12, you don't need a new cell phone every few months just because a new one comes out.”—ring with the urgency of a warning. They remind us that love without boundaries is not true love, but indulgence that rots the roots of character. To grant every desire, to bow before every demand, is to raise not a child prepared for the world, but a soul untrained in patience, gratitude, or resilience. McGregor speaks with the voice of one who sees that discipline and denial are not cruelty, but mercy in disguise.

The ancients knew this truth. The philosophers of Greece and Rome taught that virtue comes only through restraint, through the hard labor of self-control. The Stoics warned against the intoxication of constant pleasure, for those who are given everything learn to value nothing. In every civilization, from the sages of the East to the teachers of the West, it was taught that children must know the taste of effort, the ache of waiting, the joy of earning. Without this, they grow not into strength, but into weakness disguised as comfort.

Consider the life of Cyrus the Great, founder of the Persian Empire. History tells that as a child, he was raised not in luxury, though he was destined for kingship, but in simplicity, even hardship. He learned the art of war and the toil of responsibility long before he wore the crown. His strength as a ruler did not come from receiving every gift, but from knowing discipline and endurance. Contrast this with rulers like Nero, who were lavished with endless pleasures as children, and who grew into tyrants—selfish, wasteful, and ultimately destroyed by their own unchecked appetites. Thus history itself testifies: indulgence breeds ruin, but discipline breeds greatness.

McGregor’s specific warning against giving children endless new devices speaks to the modern form of an ancient danger. In olden times, it may have been jewels, fine robes, or golden toys; today, it is cell phones and gadgets. The object changes, but the truth remains: when novelty is endlessly supplied, the soul grows restless, greedy, and shallow. A child who believes they must always have the newest thing cannot learn gratitude, nor can they discover joy in what endures. They will chase endlessly, but never be satisfied.

The meaning, then, is profound. To say “no” to a child is not to withhold love but to teach it. It is to show them that worth is found not in abundance but in effort, not in possession but in appreciation. The true gift of a parent is not endless rewards, but the wisdom of restraint, the shaping of a character that knows how to work, wait, and value what is given. For one day, the parent will no longer provide, and the child must walk alone. If they have never learned to earn, they will stumble in despair when life refuses their demands.

The lesson is clear: do not confuse indulgence with love. To love a child is to prepare them for life, and life does not yield every desire. Parents must learn the art of balance—giving enough to nourish, but not so much that it destroys. Teach children to labor for their rewards, to wait for their treasures, to honor what they have before chasing after what they do not. In doing so, you give them the tools to endure hardship and the capacity to savor joy.

Therefore, let your actions be these: set boundaries, even when it pains you. Teach your children to earn, even in small things. Celebrate effort, not excess. Refuse to feed the endless hunger for novelty, and instead nurture gratitude for what is already in their hands. When you say “no,” let it be with firmness and love, knowing that you are shaping not only their present but their future strength.

Thus, McGregor’s words endure as a reminder: parenting is not the granting of every wish, but the forging of resilient souls. To give everything is to give nothing of value. To withhold wisely is to give the greatest gift of all—the power to endure, to strive, and to grow into adults who can stand strong in a world that grants no guarantees.