By Albania Cadena · Guayaquil, Ecuador
What are you worth if you don't win?
My son, Siamcito, is eight years old, and he is good at every sport. What seems a blessing — and it is — became, without our realising it, a lesson we did not expect. One day we grasped something that shook us: he was measuring his worth as a person by how much he won, not by who he was.
That made us stop. We decided to go back to basics: unscheduled afternoons in the park, family films, bedtime stories, simply being a child. And what we saw confirmed that we had made the right decision. As parents, sometimes you have to let go of the ego of having a champion child in order to gain something far more important: a happy child.
The best for them, or the best for us?
I open Instagram and I see it every day: a silent but very real competition to show off talented, active, productive children. Children turned into content, exposed to public scrutiny for the sake of likes and acceptance. Schedules that are exhausting just to read: sports, robotics, languages, art, technology, all at the same time, from the moment they can barely tie their shoelaces.
We all want the best for our children — but have we asked ourselves what "the best" really means? It is said that education is the greatest inheritance, and it is true. But what education are we talking about? Certificates and content, or real life skills: empathy, resilience, teamwork, the ability to be happy with what one has?
The real champions are not always in the final
This World Cup gave me an unexpected lesson, and it came just when I needed it most as a mother. The ones who impressed me most were not necessarily those who reached the final: they were the ones who rowed together. Norway and its famous cry "Ro!" — "row!" — became a symbol of something that goes far beyond football: the strength of the team, the beauty of collective work, the worth of those who play their part from the background, without needing the centre of the stage.
To row does not always mean being the one who sets the pace. And that does not take away your worth: it gives it to you in another way. Not everything has to be first place, exotic or novel. Sometimes the most transforming thing is the simplest: to work, to add, to accompany. That is what I would like my children to learn: not to shine alone, but to row together.
To live simply so that others may simply live
Mother Marie Eugénie spoke of children as sacred vessels: beings who must be treated with respect and honour, because they carry within them the image of God. From that perspective, turning a child into a trophy, into content, into a project of achievements, is also a way of not respecting that image, of not truly seeing them.
Mother Marie Eugénie also left us a phrase that touches me deeply — and I say it honestly, because for me it is one of the greatest personal challenges: "To live simply so that others may simply live." In a world that demands ever more — more certifications, more skills, more activities, more of everything — choosing simplicity for our children is almost an act of rebellion. And of faith.
At the end of the road, what matters is that they are happy
Sport is beautiful. Extracurricular activities are valuable. Technology, art and languages are gifts we can give them. But first — always first — let them be children. Let them play without rushing, let play be part of the routine and not the reward at the end of a packed schedule. Let them fail without it defining their worth. Let them rest without feeling unproductive.
Good parenting requires an honest reflection on the true well-being of our children. At the end of the road, what the world needs is not more showcase champions: it needs human beings who contribute out of their happiness, who row together, who live from who they are. And that begins at home, in an unscheduled afternoon in the park, in a bedtime story.