Monkey See Monkey Do

Little Eyes Are Watching

Have you ever looked at your child and wondered, where did that come from? Why do they say what they say, react the way they react, carry themselves the way they do?

It's worth sitting with that question gently, because the answer is usually closer to home than we expect.

When our children are born, we become their first teachers. We teach them to talk, to walk, to hold a spoon, to sound out words on a page. We celebrate every bit of it. And then somewhere along the way, we're surprised by the things they pick up that we never meant to teach — the tone of voice, the eye roll, the way they handle frustration. But they learned those the same way they learned everything else: by watching the people they love most.

Children are sponges. They absorb what they see, and they absorb the most from the people they trust. That's not criticism of any parent. It's just how small humans are built.

The hard part

So, when we raise our voice, when we're short with them at the end of a long day, when anger gets the better of us — it lands hard. Not as a lesson we intended, but as a lesson all the same. This is how people handle being upset. It settles into them quietly, and years later it shows up in their own voice.

The same is true of the harder things. If drinking or drugs are part of the picture at home, they notice.

Many of us tell ourselves, they were asleep, they didn't see, they don't know. But children are remarkable observers. They may not have words for it, but they feel the shift in the room. They know.

None of this makes anyone a bad parent. It makes us human beings who are raising other human beings while still figuring ourselves out. Every one of us has moments we wish our kids hadn't seen. What matters is whether we're willing to look honestly at what we're modeling — and to repair it when we get it wrong.

What we post is part of it, too

Are your kids on your Facebook? Your nieces, nephews, grandchildren?

I recently saw someone post a photo of a joint and comment on how pretty it looked. My first thought wasn't judgment — it was I wonder who's watching. I see the party photos, the drunk selfies, the "you had to be there" videos. They're posted in fun, and I understand that. But those posts are lessons, too, and the audience is bigger than we think.

Social media has become one of the main places our children learn how to be in the world. It's not only us — it's the anger and hostility that fill their feeds, the loudest voices, the influencers, the strangers with opinions. If we accept that advertisers can shape behavior with a thirty-second spot, and that a good teacher can shape a young mind over a semester, we have to accept that a feed our children scroll for hours a day is shaping them too.

Where does a teenager first come to believe that pot is harmless? Maybe from a friend, or a stranger online, or a public figure they admire. Or maybe from a joke we made at the kitchen table without thinking twice.

A gentler question

So, the next time your teenager snaps at you, raises their voice, or does something that stops you cold, try trading the anger for curiosity. Instead of how could you — ask where did you learn this — and what am I still teaching?

It's an uncomfortable question. But it's also a hopeful one, because it means we're not powerless. If they learned from watching, they can learn something better the same way.

They're always watching. That's not a burden. That's the opportunity.