I have to be a teacher to my daughters.

Hear now the simple yet profound words of Carnie Wilson: “I have to be a teacher to my daughters.” Though spoken softly, they resound like a bell across the ages. For in this confession lies not only the duty of one mother, but the eternal calling of all parents and elders—to pass down wisdom, to guide the innocent, to shape the next generation with love, vigilance, and truth. The title of parent is sacred, but it is incomplete without the role of teacher.

For what is a teacher but one who illuminates the path? And what are daughters—or children of any kind—but travelers upon that path, their feet unsteady, their eyes searching, their hearts wide open to the lessons that life will inscribe upon them? If a parent does not teach, then the world will, and the world teaches harshly. Better, then, that the gentle hand of the mother, the patient word of the father, should prepare the child for the storms and triumphs that await. Thus, Wilson’s words are not mere sentiment, but a declaration of responsibility as old as humanity itself.

History is filled with examples of those who understood this sacred duty. Consider Cornelia, the Roman matron, who when asked where her jewels were, pointed to her sons, Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, and said, “These are my jewels.” She was not merely their mother; she was their teacher, instilling in them courage, eloquence, and a sense of justice. And though their lives ended in turmoil, their legacy of reform and resistance was born of her instruction. So too, every parent is called to see their children not as possessions, but as living vessels into which wisdom must be poured.

Yet let us not deceive ourselves—teaching is not only by word, but by example. The daughters of a mother will learn more from how she lives than from what she says. If she speaks of kindness but lives in bitterness, they will learn bitterness. If she preaches honesty but thrives on deceit, they will learn deceit. But if she walks in courage, humility, and truth, her children will carry these virtues as their inheritance. Thus, to be a teacher to one’s children is first to be a student of one’s own life.

This truth is both a burden and a gift. A burden, for it demands vigilance, patience, and sacrifice; a gift, for it allows us to live beyond ourselves, to see our values ripple through time in the lives of those we raise. Carnie Wilson’s words remind us that parenthood is not only about feeding and sheltering, but about shaping souls. It is not enough to provide; one must also guide.

And what of those who feel unworthy, who tremble at the thought of failing their children? To them, take comfort: the greatest teaching is not perfection but perseverance. Admit your errors, seek forgiveness, rise again. Even this is a lesson, for children who see their parents rise from failure will learn resilience, and those who see humility in their parents will learn wisdom. Teaching is not about appearing flawless—it is about showing the way to live truly and bravely, even when the road is rough.

Therefore, O seekers, take this counsel to heart: whether you are a parent, a sibling, a friend, or a mentor, someone looks to you for light. Do not withhold it. Live with intention, speak with honesty, act with compassion. In this way, you will fulfill Wilson’s truth: to be a teacher to your daughters—or to whomever life has placed in your care. This is the noblest legacy you can leave: not wealth, not fame, but wisdom lived and passed on, generation to generation, like a torch that never dies.