I am no expert on parenting.

Ranvir Shorey, with the honesty of a man unafraid to bare his humanity, once confessed: “I am no expert on parenting.” These words, though simple, carry the weight of wisdom. For in them lies the truth that parenting is not a science perfected by study, nor an art mastered by technique, but a journey walked with humility, trial, and love. In admitting his lack of expertise, Shorey teaches us more than the self-proclaimed masters ever could: that raising a child is less about knowing all answers, and more about being willing to learn along the way.

The origin of such a thought springs from the reality every parent faces. No book, no guide, no teacher can prepare one fully for the mystery of a child’s soul. Each child is a new world, with its own storms and sunlight, its own seasons of joy and sorrow. To claim expertise would be to deny the uniqueness of each life entrusted to a parent’s care. Shorey’s words stand as a humble confession: that to be a father is not to be flawless, but to be present, patient, and ever willing to grow.

History offers us noble examples of this humility. Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher, wrote in his Meditations not as one who had mastered life, but as one constantly reminding himself of how to live rightly. So too, wise parents through the ages have spoken less of certainty and more of striving. Consider Mahatma Gandhi, who admitted he often failed in his role as father, yet from his failures drew lessons that helped him guide not only his children but a nation. Their greatness lay not in claiming expertise, but in walking with honesty and perseverance.

Shorey’s words also guard against the arrogance of modern times, where many boast of their parenting philosophies as though they were perfect formulas. In truth, no method guarantees success, no voice holds absolute authority. The parent who claims mastery risks crushing the child under the weight of rigid expectation. But the parent who admits, “I am no expert,” remains open—open to the needs of the child, open to change, open to the daily miracle of discovery that parenting demands.

There is also in his confession a tender strength. For humility does not weaken the parent—it strengthens them. The father or mother who admits their limitations is free to listen more, to love more, to grow more. The child raised by such a parent learns too that mistakes are not shameful, that growth is possible, that love is stronger than perfection. In this way, the parent’s humility becomes the child’s greatest inheritance: the lesson that life is not about being flawless, but about being true.

The lesson for us is clear: approach parenting—and indeed all of life’s greatest responsibilities—not with arrogance, but with humility. Do not seek to master your children as though they were problems to be solved. Instead, seek to understand them, to walk beside them, to learn with them. Read, listen, and seek wisdom, yes—but never forget that no teacher will know your child as you do, and no parent will walk without stumbling. The true measure of success is not expertise, but love steadfast enough to endure mistakes and rise stronger each day.

Therefore, let these words be passed down: “I am no expert on parenting.” Let them remind us that humility is the doorway to wisdom, and that the truest guides of children are those who admit their frailty and yet strive daily with love. For in the end, children do not need perfect parents—they need present ones. They do not need experts—they need hearts humble enough to listen, hands strong enough to hold, and spirits brave enough to grow alongside them.