I think my mom threatened to put me up for adoption a few times.

“I think my mom threatened to put me up for adoption a few times.” — thus spoke Ivanka Trump, half in jest, half in remembrance of a mother’s discipline and a daughter’s defiance. Though the words sound light and humorous, beneath them flows an undercurrent of truth recognizable to every generation: that the bond between parent and child is a crucible of both love and correction, tension and tenderness. In her remark, Ivanka hints at a truth as old as humanity — that growth is born from friction, and that love often hides its strength behind the mask of sternness.

To the ancients, this balance of affection and authority was sacred. The philosopher Plutarch once wrote that a parent’s role is not merely to indulge the child’s desires, but to shape the soul toward virtue, even through firmness. For the child, the mother’s discipline feels at times like opposition, yet it is in truth protection disguised as anger. When Ivanka recalls her mother’s threat, she speaks as one who now understands what once seemed harsh — the way parents, in their fierce love, draw boundaries that later become the framework of their children’s success. The humor of her words only deepens their truth: even the gentlest hearts must, at times, play the stern guardian.

Her mother, Ivana Trump, was known for her intensity, her drive, her refusal to accept mediocrity. It is said that she raised her children not with softness, but with purpose — teaching them resilience, responsibility, and the will to excel. Thus, Ivanka’s memory becomes a small window into a larger truth: that discipline, when rooted in love, is not cruelty but craftsmanship. The parent molds the child as a sculptor molds marble — with patience, pressure, and vision for what the stone can become. To the child, the chisel’s touch feels painful; only later do they see the beauty revealed.

Consider the story of Alexander the Great, who was taught by Aristotle, a teacher both demanding and devoted. The young Alexander once complained of the philosopher’s severity, saying that his lessons were relentless. Yet years later, the conqueror admitted that without Aristotle’s guidance, he might have won lands but lost himself. The discipline that once felt oppressive became the foundation of his greatness. So it is with Ivanka’s lighthearted confession: her mother’s firm hand was not rejection, but refinement, shaping a child into a woman capable of commanding her own destiny.

There is, too, a note of humility in Ivanka’s recollection. By remembering her mother’s threats with humor, she acknowledges her own youthful rebellion — the mistakes and mischief that every child carries in their growing years. In this humility lies wisdom, for the one who can laugh at their past without bitterness has already begun to master it. It reminds us that family, though imperfect, is the workshop of the soul. Within its walls, we learn patience, empathy, and endurance — forged through conflict, forgiven through love.

Yet Ivanka’s words also carry a gentle warning. In a world that often confuses love with indulgence, and freedom with the absence of restraint, her memory recalls the necessity of boundaries. The ancients believed that a person untaught by discipline grows wild, like a garden untended. The love that never corrects is not strength but neglect. Her mother’s “threat,” exaggerated though it may have been, symbolizes the firmness every family must hold to preserve its harmony — for it is through loving correction that the young heart learns respect, and through laughter after the storm that affection is renewed.

So, my child, take this teaching to heart: accept correction as a form of love, and remember it with gratitude when your time of discipline has passed. Whether from a parent, a mentor, or life itself, the firm voice that challenges you is not your enemy, but your ally in disguise. Laugh, as Ivanka does, at the heat of past lessons — but never forget the wisdom they brought. For the truest bond between parent and child, teacher and student, is not made of endless agreement, but of understanding born through struggle. And in that struggle, tempered by love, the soul finds its strength — and the heart its peace.