In my time, schooling started at the age of five. However, by the time my kids were born, with the advent of kindergarten, it started at the young age of three. Poor kids.

When my elder son was about to start school, we performed a puja and admitted him on an auspicious day. Even before his admission, I bought him many colorful books and taught him to identify and name animals, birds, and various objects. He was a quick learner, absorbing everything I taught. But I was relentless, repeating lessons until he got everything right. My wife and I played with him, but now I realize that my passion for making him learn perfectly may have caused stress and tension in his young, developing mind. This pattern continued even after he moved to the first grade and beyond.

Reflecting on our schooling and teaching systems, I wonder: were they too focused on memorization? Was there any room for individuality or creativity? Was there enough emphasis on applying the theory learned? I am not so sure. Math was fine—no need for memorization except for multiplication tables—but subjects like language, science, and social studies were different. Teachers would provide questions and answers, and I feared that if the answers were not repeated verbatim during tests, full marks wouldn’t be awarded. My sons, both of them, were capable of writing answers in their own words, but I never encouraged it. My reasoning was simple: they had to be at the top of the class. I wanted them to achieve what I could not, living my dreams through them. Was this right? Justified?

I had grand plans for their education. I decided early on that I would send them abroad for higher studies, even when we were struggling financially. Dreams are dreams. If you don’t dream, where will the motivation come from? Dreams can be beneficial, but do they cost anything?

I followed the same approach with my younger son. On his first day of school, we went to the temple, prayed, and admitted him. On the academic front, they must have felt tremendous pressure from my constant encouragement to excel. I was very strict in this aspect, but otherwise, I was liberal—I never questioned what they did, who they played with, or who their friends were. I had confidence in their judgment, behavior, discipline, and honesty. These were values my mom had instilled in me, and my wife and I passed them on to our sons.

When my sons made mistakes in their answers, I would make them write corrections five or even ten times, punishing their tiny hands. I remember seeing my elder son cry in the bathroom. I was moved, but I believed I was doing it for their benefit. As a result, my elder son was always at the top of his class, which made me happy. But my younger son resisted the pressure. He set his own pace. Although he may not have been at the top, he was never far behind. However, I still wanted him to excel. Report card day often ended with a scolding, not because his marks were bad, but because he wasn’t the best in class. He would weep silently.

A great and humbling lesson came from one of my younger son’s teachers. During a parent-teacher meeting, I expressed my frustration, saying that despite my best efforts, my son wasn’t putting in enough work to be the top student. The young, intelligent teacher smiled and laughed, then asked me a question that felt like a slap in the face: “Why do you think coming first is the only sign of a good student? Can all kids come first? Aren’t there other abilities and skills to look for?”

She shared an incident that opened my eyes. She had asked the kids to write an essay on the person they liked most. To my surprise, nearly 99% of the class wrote about my second son. He was the person they liked most. Her words brought tears to my eyes. She told me that my son had a natural talent for leadership; the other kids were drawn to him. I had seen this myself but never valued it. I salute this teacher for recognizing what I had missed.

My elder son, who had succumbed to my pressure, was doing well academically. He was a leader in his own way, and later, I realized this leadership quality was something he inherited from my wife, who was excellent at networking, managing difficult situations, and guiding others. And perhaps, with some humility, from me too.

By the time my sons were in sixth or seventh grade, I had stopped putting this kind of unpleasant pressure on them. I continued to be strict about education, but my approach had changed.

Continued in Part 4 - 78. What the Kids Did That I Didn’t - Education for Me or for Them - Part 4