Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible. —Dalai Lama

Driving to the pool today, I listened to a program about commencement addresses, their effect, and their purpose. A young man from an urban high school in Washington, D.C. was interviewed as the valedictorian of his class, the class of 2023, Covid survivors who spent several years in classes made up of Zoom boxes, frequently black when the cameras were turned off. Besides this young man's accomplishments, he'll be attending Morehouse in the fall; I was struck by his humility and awareness of the need for inclusion and encouragement when he spoke to his classmates and parents. His message was that he was a part of the class, not better or above, and he stressed the importance of including them whether they planned to attend college or not, whether they had perfect grades or barely graduated. One of the interviewers said she wanted to meet his parents, and I thought, “exactly.”

By their very nature, children are entirely solipsistic, i.e., selfish and self-centered. This is a survival quality, a baby needs to be paid attention to, and a child needs to feel they are, however briefly, the center of someone's universe. But this must change, and it should change as early as possible before the idea that their needs and wants are more important than anyone else's. Of course, this is an aspect of privilege. Poverty rarely produces entitlement. For example, when my son was barely five, I was pulled aside by the server at the café at our gym and told that my son was the only child who said please and thank you and cleared his dishes. Looking around this expensive gym, I saw the future, a generation of children who expected to be waited on and did not understand the concept of gratitude. I didn't want my son to be an asshole, and we, his father and I, worked hard to teach him good behavior. This process of active parenting is a bore.

As a teenager, I was sometimes horrified by my mother insisting a pregnant cashier should be given a chair while she worked. Witnessing my father's concern and kindness toward his students and others, I felt proud to be his daughter. I watched them and saw how much they cared about the welfare of others, sometimes through tithing but often by championing someone who might not have the opportunity to speak up.

As a teacher, it never failed; the thoughtful students who were aware of their classmates, polite to the security guards and cafeteria people, and those with little power had nice parents. The ones that complained, lied, blamed, and rarely displayed any sense of perspective were invariably raised by parents that walked into teacher conferences having never booked a time, demanded to be given extra time, and found any suggestion that their child could improve unacceptable. My son was no angel, and he behaved like a typical teenager in terms of bad behavior, but he had good manners and, I think, saw his privilege.

No one wants to spend time correcting, suggesting, prompting, or punishing but guess what? If you don't do this, your kid will likely grow up and be universally disliked if they are lucky or even feared and hated. We can tell which public figures, celebrities, sports figures, and regular humans have been raised by someone who cared enough to be present. I don't believe in corporal punishment, shaming, inciting guilt, or bad feelings. The best way to raise an excellent human is to model proper behavior. If someone holds the door for you, thank them. If a pregnant woman is standing, give up your seat. Be less hurried and abrupt around older people and try and find a way to connect with an overwhelmed parent, an overworked server, or an overstressed customer service person. Ensure your children understand they are part of a human community, and even when they are little, they can be good people. I once watched a kindergartener fall down in the playground of my son's school and then watched my son approach the crying child, put out his hand, help him get up, and throw an arm across his shoulder. Honestly, I was dumfounded and so grateful.

—Molly Moynahan, author and writing coach

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