My father was a teacher and my mother also worked in the school

Hear the words of Nick Cave, poet of shadows and singer of truth, who declared: “My father was a teacher and my mother also worked in the school, so the family has a background in education.” Though spoken with humility, these words carry the weight of heritage, for they speak of a house where wisdom was honored, where learning was daily bread, and where the seeds of thought were sown into the heart of a child who would one day weave them into art.

The father, as teacher, is more than a profession; he is the symbol of guidance, of passing knowledge from one mind to another, of bridging generations with words. The mother, too, by serving in the school, stood as a guardian of learning, ensuring that the sacred flame of education continued to burn. Together, they created not merely a household, but a sanctuary of knowledge, a place where the air was filled with the echoes of books, lessons, and the call to grow. Such is the soil in which visionaries are raised.

The ancients revered such households. Consider the story of Pythagoras, who was raised by parents devoted to learning, his father a traveler who brought him wisdom from foreign lands, his mother a woman of insight and devotion. From their influence, he grew into a philosopher whose teachings shaped centuries. So too with Nick Cave—though his art took the form of music and poetry, its roots lay in the education that flowed through his family, the hidden discipline that shaped his imagination and gave structure to his wild fire.

This saying reminds us that education is not confined to classrooms, but is a legacy handed down through families and communities. When the father teaches, when the mother serves in the halls of knowledge, the child breathes in the very air of wisdom. And though that child may wander into art, science, or politics, the foundation remains: a respect for learning, a reverence for truth, a recognition that knowledge is a flame that must be tended and passed on.

But there is more. To confess a background in education is also to acknowledge duty. For education is not a possession, but a trust. Those raised in its shadow are called to carry it forward—not always as literal teachers, but as voices who shape others, who awaken minds and spirits. Thus Nick Cave, though not a schoolmaster, became a teacher through song, through story, through the raw honesty of his art. He continues the work of his parents, not by chalk and blackboard, but by stirring the souls of listeners across the world.

The lesson is this: honor the roots of your family, for within them lies the soil of your own calling. If your heritage is one of teachers, then teach in your way. If your heritage is one of builders, then build. If none have left you such legacy, then begin it yourself, so that those who come after may say of you: “My family has a background in wisdom, in courage, in love.” What matters is not the form, but the faithfulness to pass on light rather than darkness.

Practical action flows from this truth. Do not despise the influence of your parents, even if it seems ordinary. Ask yourself: what gifts did their labor place in me? Perhaps discipline, perhaps curiosity, perhaps compassion. Let these gifts be your inheritance, and use them to shape others. And in your own life, whether by teaching, creating, or simply living with integrity, give something worthy to those who will follow after you. For in this way, you become part of the unbroken chain of education—the passing of light from one generation to the next.

So let Nick Cave’s words be remembered: “My father was a teacher, my mother worked in the school, and our family had a background in education.” It is a reminder that greatness is rarely born in isolation; it is nourished by the unseen labors of those who came before. Honor those roots, O listener, and let your life, too, become a root for others. In this lies the true immortality of humankind.