A distinguished retired professor once shared a story about his son—an experience that deeply shook him as a parent. His son had firmly refused to go to college. At first, the professor was furious. He felt as though all his hopes had collapsed in an instant. He had poured every resource—money he had and money he didn’t have—into tutoring, lessons, and anything that might help his son’s future. He had supported him as faithfully as any parent could.

So he could not understand. He even imagined people whispering, “How can you stand in front of students when you couldn’t even send your own son to college?” In desperation, he pleaded with his son, “For your parents’ sake, at least go to college.”

But the son replied, “I don’t want to waste my youth sitting helplessly at a desk anymore. I need to find my own life.”

After months of turmoil—something he had never imagined possible—the professor slowly became calm. He began to reflect on life. He realized that in a generation obsessed with elite universities, many young people were losing their emotional richness, their creativity, and their individuality. In the pursuit of a prestigious diploma, they were being packaged like standardized products, losing the essence of life and suffering quietly.

One morning, he watched his son head to work at an auto shop, wearing clothes stained with grease, full of energy and purpose. The professor nodded to himself and said, “You are the true senior in life.”

I experienced something similar with my second child. Serim, now fourteen, began learning violin at age five under an excellent teacher. But about three years ago, she began losing interest. Last year, with tears streaming down her face, she declared, “I don’t want to play violin anymore.”

I was disappointed. I had quietly hoped that if she continued, she might earn a scholarship for college someday. Though I eventually accepted her decision, my heart felt heavy.

But what happened afterward surprised me. With the time freed from violin, she began exploring what she truly loved—art and sports. Within months, she became a finalist in several county art competitions and even won second place at the New York State level. She also found joy in badminton, releasing her adolescent stress in healthy ways.

Seeing her bright face now, I realize how close she came to spending her teenage years in gloom, forced to hold onto something she no longer loved.

Raising children means facing moments we never expected. Sometimes, the very things we do “for their sake” end up suppressing their gifts, burying their abilities, and draining their enthusiasm. Then nothing they do seems to satisfy us, and they grow up without confidence.

So what does it mean to open a wide road for our children? What does it mean to step aside for the path they must walk?

God, the Creator of humanity, did not make us uniform. He gave us free will—freedom of thought, desire, and action—so that through work and rest, we might enjoy the fullness of life. I am reminded again that God delights in this freedom.

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, April 22, 1997