Today's new age parenting guarantees you'll hear children

In the words of GloZell, we hear both lament and warning: “Today’s new age parenting guarantees you’ll hear children screaming, whining, and begging for items and attention in an airplane, store or any other public place.” These words are not spoken with cruelty but with the sharp edge of observation. They remind us that when discipline is abandoned for indulgence, when boundaries are blurred by fear of saying "no," the result is not freedom but chaos. The public tantrum becomes not only the sound of a child unbridled but of a society that has forgotten the sacred balance of love and authority.

The ancients themselves understood this tension. In the Proverbs it is written, “The child left to himself brings shame to his mother.” Plato, too, in The Republic, warned of households where children commanded their parents, calling it a sign of decay that would spread from the family into the city itself. GloZell’s words echo this eternal wisdom: when parenting bends too far toward appeasement, children learn not gratitude but demand, not patience but entitlement. The noise of whining in public is thus not only a disturbance of peace, but a symbol of a deeper disorder.

History gives us a mirror of this truth. In the later days of Rome, when indulgence replaced the old discipline, writers lamented that youth had become unruly, disrespectful, and entitled. The poet Juvenal mocked parents who indulged every whim of their sons, warning that such softness would lead to weakness in character and ruin in society. His warnings proved prophetic, for a generation raised without restraint proved unable to preserve the discipline that had once built the empire. GloZell’s modern complaint is the same ancient cry: children must be guided, or else they become masters of their parents, and disorder spreads outward.

Yet her words are not simply condemnation—they are an invitation to reflection. New age parenting, with its emphasis on freedom, affirmation, and independence, can bear fruit when tempered with structure. But without discipline, it loses its strength. A child given all they ask for learns neither patience nor humility. A child never corrected learns not respect but rebellion. Thus, the screaming in the store is not merely a child’s cry—it is a parent’s surrender. The absence of boundaries creates not love, but confusion.

The meaning of GloZell’s observation is deeply emotional, for every parent knows the sting of a child’s tantrum, the embarrassment in public, the uncertainty of how to respond. To indulge may silence the cry for a moment, but it feeds the greater hunger of entitlement. To stand firm may bring louder cries at first, but it plants the seed of self-control. The parent must choose: temporary ease or long-term strength. The path is not easy, but wisdom demands firmness clothed in love.

The lesson for us is clear. First, let us not be swayed by the fear of displeasing our children, for love that refuses to guide is no love at all. Second, let us reclaim the art of saying “no” with calm authority, remembering that boundaries are gifts that shape character. Third, let us teach children gratitude by example, showing them that life is not about endless consumption but about patience, respect, and responsibility.

O seekers of wisdom, remember this: the sound of a child’s whining in public is not inevitable. It is a signpost pointing back to the home, where habits are formed, where discipline and love must walk together. The noise of rebellion in small things becomes the weakness of character in great things. But the quiet strength of a guided child becomes the foundation of a just society.

Thus, GloZell’s words endure as a wake-up call. New age parenting may promise freedom, but without discipline, it produces only noise. Let us return to the balance of love and guidance, indulgence and restraint. For when parents stand firm in wisdom, children learn to stand firm in life. And in that strength, peace returns—not only to the home, but to the marketplace, the airplane, and the world itself.