Those Who Love, Educate!

Raising a child means providing a home, food, school, health insurance, clean clothes. That is the basic duty of any parent, but it is not education. Educating is the hardest and slowest job: preparing someone to make their own decisions, live with their own consequences and function in society without depending forever on whoever raised them.

The confusion between the two verbs is the starting point of the book. Some families pour rivers of money into private school, test prep, study abroad, and still hand the world an adult who can't disagree without yelling, can't lose a game, can't wait his turn. Filling a child's material life is not the same thing as building character.

Içami Tiba wrote this with a generation of parents in mind who worked all day to support the household and had little time left for real time together. The book insists on this point: you can raise a child in ten minutes of rushing between work and bedtime, but educating takes repeated presence, which is what forms a real bond, scene after scene, year after year.

The book's title already gives away its central thesis: those who love, educate, and those who educate sometimes have to say no. To many people that no sounds like a lack of love, but Tiba's argument goes the opposite way: the parent who never frustrates the child is protecting his own peace, not the child's good.

Every child tests limits, and it's a normal part of growing up. The problem is not the child asking for more than he should, it's the adult who gives in just to avoid a fight or a tantrum in public. Each time that happens, the child learns a dangerous lesson: asking loudly enough works.

Agreeing on the limit before the crying starts educates more than shouting a desperate no, because it teaches that the rule exists regardless of the mood of whoever is in charge at that moment.

One of the book's most direct targets is the parent who works outside the home all day, feels he should be more present, and settles the guilt by buying something. A new game, brand-name clothes, an expensive weekend outing. The gift becomes an excuse for an empty house.

Tiba draws attention to this silent exchange: a present in place of presence plugs the hole for a day, but it goes straight to the child's self-esteem, because he learns to measure his own worth by the size of what he receives instead of by the relationship itself. Over time the requests grow, because the object never solves the real shortage, which is time together.

The criticism is not of giving gifts, it's of using gifts as a disguised apology. The difference shows up in practice: a gift paired with conversation and rules educates, while a gift that replaces both only buys silence for a while.