In the children’s message, the kids this week, "What kinds of things have you had to apologize for?" Anecdotes faded into streams of cuteness consciousness. But before he could land the plane, one six-year-old boy blurted the most revealing, unvarnished confession:

"You don't want to say you're sorry because then kids will know that you're weak. And then they'll be even more mean to you."

Mic drop. Childlike wonder, imagination, and naiveté replaced with self-preservation, scarcity, and a heart already learning to callus.

We know that moment when someone became "Mom" or "Dad" to us. Not when we mastered swaddling or figured out sleep schedules—but something deeper. A protective instinct we didn't know existed suddenly emerged. Identity shifted before competence ever caught up. If you ask your child, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" try following up with, "Then what?" Because here's the truth: identity isn't a destination. It's not about arriving at a job title and stopping. It's about becoming.

In Almost Famous, rock journalist Lester Bangs snuck a profound, easily missed confession to his young protégé: "The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you're uncool." Parenting inevitably reveals how the older we get, the less cool we become. But, what could be more unnerving - like realizing a mirror works even when our eyes are closed – is our kids have a front-row seat to our harried moments of long days and late nights of our flawed humanity.