Purpose and Desired Outcomes

Before I share the three breakthroughs from our China trip, I must begin with why I brought my children there in the first place. I had three clear purposes.

First, I wanted to spend meaningful time with them. Second, I wanted them to embrace Mandarin as part of their identity. Third, I wanted them to see what I do: my work, my purpose, so they could better understand me.

The desired outcomes were simple. That we would know each other more deeply. That they would not just study Mandarin, but enjoy speaking it. And that we would create memories that matter, the kind no money can buy.

With that foundation set, every struggle and inconvenience on this trip became more than interruptions. They became the soil where seeds of growth could take root.

The Seed and the Soil

Parenting breakthroughs do not always happen in quiet classrooms, carefully planned holidays, or well-designed curriculums. Sometimes, they emerge in the middle of chaos: on a high-speed rail, in a hotel room, or even after a lost phone.

What looks like disaster can, in fact, become the soil where seeds of growth take root. Developmental research shows that children build resilience not in comfort, but through structured challenges and routines that give them a sense of agency. With my three purposes in mind, I began to see every difficult moment not as an interruption, but as the very ground where breakthroughs could germinate.

Breakthrough 1: Eann’s Mandarin Courage

The trip was packed with meetings, conferences, and networking, hardly the easiest environment for children. On one of the busiest days, I let the boys use their iPads for long stretches: some educational content, some games. After lunch, I told them, “Enough, let’s cover up and rest.” But they could not. Their excitement kept them awake, and soon they were negotiating for more screen time.

That was the moment I tried something different. Instead of pacifying them with screens, I gave them a task. We were in a brand-new development, quiet and safe, almost like Puteri Harbour back home. I told them: “Take the phone, go downstairs, and ask the security guard for permission to go out. But you must do it in Mandarin.”

I gave them a few phrases, simple Chinese sentences they could use. The rule was clear: they had to record proof, a photo or video of themselves asking. It became a mission. Children often thrive when given purposeful tasks. A sense of responsibility builds competence and pride, especially when the task stretches them beyond comfort.

Aden resisted, but Eann, my second son, embraced the challenge. He went down, spoke to the guard, and returned triumphant. He loved it. A seed had been planted, not just in language, but in identity.

That night, I asked the boys to draw and write about their best moment of the day. I expected them to highlight something grand. Instead, they sketched the simplest things: getting a toy, sharing a snack, playing together. It struck me deeply: as adults, we often overestimate what matters. For children, it is the small, ordinary joys that lodge deepest in memory.

Real-world backing: Research shows children learn languages faster when immersed in real-world use rather than classroom drills. The U.S. Department of Education found that exposure before age 10 raises the chance of fluency by 70 percent.

Analogy: It was like earning his first martial arts belt. Not mastery, but proof he had stepped onto the mat. That first belt gives courage to keep training.

That day, the seed of embracing his Chinese identity began to grow in Eann.

Breakthrough 2: Independence in the Hotel Room

One evening, I was invited for supper. I could have turned it down to stay with the boys, but I chose to accept and turn it into a test for them. I set them up in the hotel room, explained the rules, and prepared a safety net: video calls.

But China has its own complications. WhatsApp is banned. Their accounts were child accounts, which added restrictions. After tinkering with accounts and Wi-Fi, I finally settled on FaceTime. “If you need me, video call. Brush your teeth, shower, sleep. Call me at each step.”

The moment I was about to leave, Aden broke down. Tears streamed as he clung to me: “I can’t do this without you.” I hugged him, prayed over them, and whispered courage into his heart. Then I left, carrying their dirty laundry to be washed.

What followed was extraordinary. They called me after brushing their teeth. They called again after showering. They even asked politely if they could play a short game before bed. When I returned past 2 a.m., exhausted, I found them all deep asleep. For me, it was a historic moment. They had taken their first small step into independence.

The next morning, I woke early, showered, and found their luggage in a mess. I had stuffed the washed clothes in before collapsing. So I asked them to help fold. To my delight, they did it happily, working together, side by side. I snapped a photo to remember the sight: two brothers folding clothes, learning responsibility without complaint.

Real-world backing: Psychologist Jonathan Haidt in The Anxious Generation warns that overprotection deprives children of resilience. UNICEF reports that 1 in 7 adolescents worldwide face mental health struggles, many linked to lack of coping skills.

Additional evidence: Routines like brushing, showering, and bedtime rituals are not small details. They are the very structure that gives children stability and courage to face new situations.

Analogy: Independence is like China’s high-speed rail. It does not run on hope; it runs on systems and discipline. That night, their system was simple: brush, shower, call Dad, sleep. Small, but it carried them forward.

That night reminded me that parenting is not about removing fear, but about teaching children to walk through it.

Breakthrough 3: Aden’s Lost Phone and Financial Literacy

The hardest moment came on the high-speed rail from Shantou to Guangzhou. It was a long three-hour ride. While I stepped aside to debrief with colleagues, Aden secretly took out my phone. Later, when I could not find it, panic set in. Supplements, power bank, all missing. And now, no phone.

I messaged the group frantically. One companion mentioned she had seen Aden playing with it. My anger flared, and I confronted him. When he admitted it quietly, my frustration only deepened. I felt overwhelmed, so much so that I picked up the phone and called my wife, venting about how the boys were wearing me down.

Then something shifted. Aden picked up a plastic spoon and began scratching himself. “I wish I could die,” he whispered. My anger dissolved instantly. This was not rebellion. This was pain. He simply lacked the tools to cope.

I drew back from my frustration and sat quietly at his side, giving him the space he needed. Hours later, when he was ready, we talked. I explained the value of the phone: RM1,000. I broke it down. At RM5 an hour, he would need 200 hours of work to repay it. If spread across six months, that meant one hour a day. His eyes widened.

He suggested doing laundry. I gently told him, “That has no value for me, I already have a helper.” Then I explained further: “Value is not just effort. It is whether someone wants what you create. If you bake a cake, it only matters if someone is willing to buy it.”

A colleague suggested he help with Deepavali packaging. “That is value,” I said. He nodded, willing. A painful mistake had become his first lesson in financial literacy.

Later, at the airport, his younger brother climbed onto the luggage trolley. Aden resisted pushing. I reminded him of the one rule I gave before the trip: “Love one another.” I leaned close and whispered, “Do you know why I did not punish you for the phone? Because I, too, must follow that rule.”

Moments later, I turned and saw Aden pushing his brother on the trolley. Love had taken root again.

Real-world backing: Cambridge University research shows money habits start forming as early as age 7. OECD studies reveal fewer than 30 percent of 15-year-olds demonstrate basic financial literacy.

Analogy: It is like compounding interest. Small deposits of financial lessons, repeated over time, grow into lifelong wisdom.

A disaster reframed became an opportunity. Instead of trauma, it became seed.

What These Breakthroughs Mean

Looking back, the three stories are not random. They are connected by a deeper truth: growth happens in the intersection of risk, trust, and love.

• Eann’s Mandarin courage showed me resistance can be reframed into resilience when children are given purposeful tasks.
• The hotel independence reminded me that fear can become soil for courage when paired with small systems.
• Aden’s lost phone proved that disasters can be reframed into financial wisdom and love.

Seeds do not grow in sterile environments. They need soil, water, and storms. Parenting is the same. Breakthroughs are rarely neat. They are often messy, inconvenient, and painful, yet they grow the deepest roots.

From Seeds to Legacy

The greatest legacy we leave our children is not wealth or achievements. It is the seeds we plant: independence, resilience, and love.

Reverse insight: The opposite of parenting for legacy is not failure. It is overprotection. When we shield children from risk, we rob them of growth.

This trip to China reminded me that discipleship and legacy always begin at home. You cannot shout about leadership or purpose while neglecting your own children. Parenting is the essence of legacy.

At the end of the journey, the rule still stood: love one another. That is the sunlight every seed needs, not only in good times, but especially in storms.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

The opposite of parenting for legacy is not losing control. It is holding too tightly. True love releases. True parenting plants seeds, even in pain. And true legacy is built not in perfection, but in planting small seeds of growth that one day become trees of strength.