A child does not always say: “I need you.” Sometimes, the child simply becomes quiet.

Children may have almost everything we believe they need: smartphones, television, internet access, schoolbooks, tuition classes, toys, and countless opportunities. We work hard to give them a better life. We fill their days with education, activities, and preparation for the future. But somewhere between giving them everything and preparing them for tomorrow, we may be overlooking something very simple.

Our children need us. Not just our money. Not just our time to take them to school or tuition. Not just our questions about marks and homework. They need our attention, our conversation, and, above all, our presence.

This is one of the strange contradictions of childhood today. Our children are more connected to the world than ever before, but sometimes they seem less connected to the people sitting right beside them. 

Think about a typical family dinner. The father is answering a message, the mother is checking her phone, the teenager is scrolling through social media, and the younger child is watching a video. Everyone is together, but are they really together?

Sri Lankan parents are not uncaring. Quite the opposite. 

We care deeply about our children. We work hard for them, sacrifice for them, and worry constantly about their future. We want them to have better opportunities than we had. We want them to receive a good education, speak English, understand technology, and be ready for a competitive world. And much of what we do comes from love. But sometimes, without noticing it, our love becomes a race to provide everything except ourselves.

The changing face of childhood

Childhood in Sri Lanka has changed. Not so long ago, children spent long afternoons playing cricket in the lane, cycling around the neighbourhood, climbing trees, visiting grandparents, or simply sitting outside talking to friends. They knew their neighbours. They played until someone called them home for dinner. 

Today, many children move from school to tuition, from tuition to homework, and from homework to a screen. Even weekends can be filled with classes, competitions, and activities.

We tell ourselves that all this is necessary. And perhaps some of it is. The world is competitive. We worry that our children will fall behind if they do not study enough, learn enough, or develop enough skills. But in preparing children so carefully for tomorrow, are we sometimes forgetting to let them live today? A child does not need every hour to be productive. Sometimes a child simply needs to be a child.

Then comes the pressure of examinations. In Sri Lanka, it is easy for marks to become a measure of a child’s worth. “How many marks did you get?” “What did your friend get?” “What is your rank?” These questions are asked so often that children can begin to believe that their value is written on a report card. But a child is much more than a number.

A child who finds mathematics difficult may have a heart full of kindness. A quiet child may have a world of imagination that we simply cannot see. And a child who never wins a competition may one day become the person others turn to when they need comfort, courage, or support.

The importance of being around

There is another reality in many Sri Lankan families. Parents sometimes leave the country to work overseas, hoping to give their children a better life. 

Their sacrifice can provide a house, better schooling, financial security, and many comforts. But children do not always measure love in money. They remember who was there. They remember the parent who missed the school concert, the birthday, the difficult day, or the moment when they simply needed someone to sit beside them. Money can provide many things. Presence is something else.

In many Sri Lankan homes, grandparents have quietly become an important part of children’s lives. They offer something that busy schedules often cannot: time. They tell stories. They listen. They remember a different Sri Lanka: children playing outdoors, neighbours knowing one another, evenings spent talking, and meals made at home. 

Their stories may sound old-fashioned to today’s children, but perhaps they carry something we should not lose. They remind us that a good childhood was never only about what a child had. It was also about who was around.

The need to examine ourselves

Today’s children are growing up between different worlds. They may speak Sinhala or Tamil at home, English at school, and a mixture of languages online. They live between traditional expectations and a rapidly changing global culture. 

We cannot expect them to grow up exactly as we did because the world they are entering is different. Our responsibility is not to pull them backwards. It is to give them strong enough roots to move forward without losing themselves.

Technology is easy to blame, but the phone itself is not the problem. It can educate, connect, and help children discover ideas and people they may never have encountered otherwise. 

The real question is what place the screen has taken in the child’s life. A screen can answer a question, but it cannot notice that a child is sad. It can entertain, but it cannot replace affection. It can connect a child to thousands of people, but it cannot provide the comfort of knowing that someone at home truly understands them.

And before we blame our children for spending too much time on screens, perhaps we should look at ourselves. How often do we tell children, “Put your phone away,” while holding our own? We tell them to be patient while losing patience with them. We tell them to respect others while speaking disrespectfully about people in front of them. We tell them to be kind while forgetting to practise kindness ourselves.

Children learn far more from what we do than from what we tell them. They watch how we speak to each other. They notice how we treat the domestic worker, the driver, the shop assistant, or the elderly neighbour. They see what happens when we are angry. They hear how we speak about other people. They learn how to deal with disappointment by watching how we deal with our own. Children may forget many of our words, but they rarely forget what they saw.

Rediscovering a nurturing presence

Perhaps families do not need another complicated parenting formula. Perhaps we simply need to rediscover the art of being together. Eat a meal together when you can. Sit beside your child before bedtime. Take a walk. Let grandparents tell their stories. Ask about something other than school and marks. 

And when your child starts talking, do not immediately reach for a solution. Listen first. Ask: “How are you feeling?” “Is something troubling you?” “What made you happy today?”

Sometimes a child does not need another teacher, another class, or another piece of advice. Sometimes they need a parent to put down the phone, look at them, and say: “Tell me. I’m listening.”

We cannot protect our children from every disappointment. We cannot remove every difficulty from their lives. They will fail sometimes. They will make mistakes. They will be hurt. That is part of growing up. What we can give them is something far more valuable: the confidence that they do not have to face those moments alone.

One day, the school uniforms will disappear. The tuition books will be forgotten. The toys will be packed away. The expensive phone will become an old phone. Certificates will gather dust. But the memory of home will remain.

Children will remember whether someone was there when they were frightened. Whether someone listened when they were confused. Whether they could make a mistake without feeling that they had disappointed everyone. They will remember whether home was a place where they had to constantly prove themselves or a place where they could simply be themselves.

We often say that children are the future of Sri Lanka. They are. But they are also the present. The childhood we give them today will shape the adults they become tomorrow. 

So perhaps we should ask fewer questions about marks, ranks, and achievements, and ask a few more about happiness. Before asking whether they are ready for the future, perhaps we should ask whether they feel safe today. And before giving them another device, another class, or another lesson, perhaps we should give them a little more of ourselves.

Because our children may have access to the entire world through a screen. But what they need most is still very close to home: the presence of someone who listens, understands, and makes them feel that they belong.

They may have everything. But do they have us?

(The writer is an independent researcher)

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication)