[Essay] Part 1: The Day the Assumptions of Japanese Parenting Collapsed | Where Assumptions Unravel: What I Learned Raising Children in India

The beginning of a record spanning six parts.

Part 1 | The Day the Assumptions of Japanese Parenting Collapsed

Children negotiating for 0.5 points

This is an event that occurred during the 12 years I spent raising my children in India.

One day, my first-grade twins came home from school and said, 'We talked to the teacher about our grades.' When I asked, they explained that they had negotiated for an extra 0.5 points on their exam papers.

I was speechless. I had always assumed that a grade was finalized the moment it was marked. You accept the result as it is and work hard for the next one. I had believed this was the natural way of things, without a shadow of a doubt.

But for my children, it was nothing special. They expressed their thoughts, stated their reasons, and checked whether they could reach an understanding. The discussion about their grades was simply an extension of that.

I listened to them with a sense of unease.

Debate was 'life,' not just a 'class'

In India, expressing one's opinion is woven into daily life. It is not just in the classroom; in conversations with friends and interactions at home, people naturally ask for reasons, state their positions, and use all the words at their disposal.

At school, there were debate classes where, whether for or against, students had to build arguments based on the position they were assigned. Rather than seeking a single correct answer, the emphasis was on how to think and how to communicate.

This is not to say that Indian education is superior. It is just that the assumptions I took for granted in Japan—that 'evaluations are something you receive' and 'results are unchangeable'—were a little different here.

My children were growing up in that environment.

No model answers—I was lost in a fog

For a while after school life began in India, I kept searching for the right answer, despite my trial and error and doing the best I could. I wondered how I should be involved and how much I should intervene.

The instincts I had built up in Japan were not very useful here. People were bright and kind, and my fellow mothers were friendly, but no matter who I consulted, I never received a clear answer like, 'You should do this.' They would just say, 'You're doing fine as you are.' That felt a little different from being left to my own devices.

Daily life in a foreign country was full of challenges, but nothing particularly problematic was happening. My children went to school every day, handled their assignments and events, and built friendships. Still, an indelible sense of discomfort remained within me.

Without seeing an answer, I spent some time going back and forth in the same place. The question of 'what I should do as a parent' remained suspended in mid-air.

That discomfort took clear shape one day when I spoke with a teacher at school.

'You don't need to be that meticulous'—What I let go of

One day, when I went to pick up my children from school, I was called over by a teacher to talk about their learning. I was trying to confirm the fine details and areas for improvement, just as I had been accustomed to doing in Japan. The teacher then said to me with a gentle expression:

“You don’t need to be that meticulous.”

The moment I heard those words, my chest tightened. I had always believed that a parent’s role was to plan ahead, organize, manage, and provide support to ensure no mistakes were made. But perhaps that attitude was less about protecting my children and more about soothing my own anxieties.

In Indian schools, parents were not expected to grasp, adjust, and guide everything. If they didn’t understand, it was fine to leave it that way. It was okay if things weren’t perfect, or if they were still in progress. Adults step back to leave room for children to notice, choose, and correct things for themselves.

What I let go of at that moment wasn't just a method or a way of doing things. It was the very sense of duty that I “had to show every step of the way.” I had been organizing everything in advance, from the order of their homework to the timing of their submissions. It was about stepping back from the role of “the one who provides the correct answer first,” a role I had taken on as if it were only natural.

I didn’t let go of the dangers or the lines that shouldn't be crossed. I simply learned that providing the answer first is not the only way to offer support. Instead, it is about trusting and waiting through the time that includes uncertainty and failure.

It wasn't easy. However, I believe that without those words, I would have remained standing in the same place forever.

It was I who changed.

After that, the children gradually began to make their own decisions. They would choose something, fail, pause, and then move forward again. I stayed by their side so I could support them whenever they needed me. That is how the children lived their days.

Each of those moments is still special and moving to me even now. But at the time, my consciousness was also directed toward my own confusion about how I should be involved.

Before speaking up, I take a breath. I set aside the urge to intervene. The word “watching over” emerges not as an abstract ideal, but as a concrete choice.

Looking back, rather than feeling like I taught them something as a parent, the sensation of my own assumptions unraveling remains more strongly with me.

And that change would go on to shake my assumptions even further in unexpected situations.

[Series List]
Part 1: The Day the Assumptions of Japanese Parenting Collapsed
Part 2: Schools That Don't Teach the Answers
Part 3: In the Place Where I Thought I Had Let Go
Part 4: Places Where Parents Cannot Protect
Part 5: Challenging Once More
Part 6: Where Assumptions Unravel