I regret not having had more time with my kids when they were

In the words of Tina Turner: “I regret not having had more time with my kids when they were growing up.” These words are heavy with the weight of memory, for they reveal a truth that echoes across generations: that the treasures of life are not found in fame, wealth, or triumph, but in the fleeting years of childhood, when a parent’s presence is the greatest gift. Regret is the sorrow of looking back, of realizing that what was most precious slipped away while one’s eyes were fixed on other pursuits.

The ancients often warned of this blindness. They told of kings who conquered empires but lost their families, of warriors who won glory yet died strangers to their own children. The philosopher Seneca wrote that time is the one thing we cannot buy back, and that most men squander it as though it were endless. Turner’s lament stands in this same lineage of wisdom: the greatest tragedy is not losing fortune, but missing the unrepeatable seasons of love in the home.

History offers us a vivid example in the life of Alexander the Great. Though he ruled the known world, he left behind a young son, Alexander IV, whom he scarcely knew. The boy grew up under regents and intrigue, never feeling the fatherly presence of the man who conquered nations. What the father gained in empire, he lost in intimacy. Tina Turner’s words echo this same lesson: greatness in the world cannot replace closeness at home.

And yet, her confession also carries a kind of quiet heroism. For to admit regret is itself a teaching. Many live and die in denial, but Turner’s words become a warning to others: do not wait until the years are gone to realize their worth. Childhood is a river that flows swiftly, and once passed, it cannot be reversed. To speak her sorrow aloud is to hand us a lantern, so that we may walk more wisely where she stumbled.

Her words also remind us of the sacredness of presence. Children may not remember the grandeur of their parent’s work, but they remember the sound of their voice at night, the warmth of their embrace, the simple acts of shared time. These small moments, seemingly insignificant, become the foundation of security and love. A missed recital, an empty seat at the dinner table—these absences are remembered as keenly as victories are forgotten.

The lesson is clear: guard your time, for it is the most precious inheritance you can give. Wealth may fade, legacies may shift, but the memory of presence endures in the hearts of your children long after you are gone. To spend your life chasing the world while neglecting those in your home is to win dust and lose eternity.

Practical action is before us: make room for your children in the midst of your striving. Turn from the noise of the world to the quiet of your home. Set aside your devices, your work, your ambitions, and be fully present in the moments that matter. For when the years have passed, it will not be the missed meetings or unfinished tasks that haunt you, but the missed laughter, the unspoken words, the love you failed to show.

Thus, Tina Turner’s words are not only a confession but a commandment: do not waste the sacred years of childhood. Honor the fleeting gift of your kids while they are still within reach. For when the season is gone, only regret remains—and no power on earth can bring back the hours lost to time.