I wrestled with this question as I watched Dream Stall — a film about a daughter trying to follow her dream of running the family’s bak ku teh (pork ribs soup) stall, and her dad trying to stop her out of love. He had sacrificed years running it to fund her education, never wanting her to inherit that life. It brought my fears to the surface. How would I react if my girl told me she wants to be a hawker, a professional musician, or an overseas missionary? I mean, how will she make enough money to survive? 

Watching that tension on screen made me realise how much simpler parenting feels when the danger is clear and immediate. It is easy to say, “Hold Daddy’s hand when crossing the road!”, or “Watch where you are going!” But as they grow older, the dangers become less obvious. And it’s not as though we can shield them from it all. Anything worth doing involves a certain amount of risk and hardship. 

Difficulties, if faced with courage and grit, can also become valuable life lessons. Not letting my daughters overcome them by their own strength would be doing them a disservice. After all, it is the conquering of obstacles that makes success sweeter — every hard-won achievement carries a satisfaction that an easy path never could. 

I too experience a great swell of pride whenever I see my daughter doing difficult things. Recently, my elder girl and I were at a playground with higher-than-usual elements. She is extremely cautious by nature, and I was all ready to hold her and guide her through. But she surprised me: “Daddy, don’t help me! I can do it myself.” And she did! I reminded her what being brave meant: to do something even though we are scared. 

“Daddy, don’t help me! I can do it myself.”

That moment helped me realise that my role may not be to step in, but sometimes to step back and allow them to learn to manage life’s challenges on their own. 

Yet in those heart thumping moments, I pray that my girls will grow up being confident in my love for them. I hope to support them in whatever they pursue, and should they “fail” in their endeavours, I will be there to catch them. 

Perhaps my role as their father isn’t to steer them towards safe choices, but to be their source of security — giving them the confidence they need to chase their dreams. And following my girl’s example at the playground, I must learn to be brave too: to let my daughters live their own lives, even though it is a scary prospect for me as a father. 

Maybe that’s what it means to be a parent: not to decide their dreams, but to stand behind them as they chase their own.