There was a sentence that ended arguments before they started.
“Quiet when adults are talking.”
No debate.
No follow-up explanation.
No negotiation.
It wasn’t said to be kind.
It was said to establish order.
And order mattered because attention mattered.
Back then, you didn’t get to float half-present through a moment that required learning. You oriented yourself. You stopped moving. You looked up. You listened. Your body lined up with the situation before your opinion ever entered the room.
That wasn’t oppression.
That was training.
It taught a simple rule that modern culture quietly removed: presence comes before participation.
When adults spoke, it meant something was being passed down—knowledge earned the hard way, rules written in bruises and bills and mistakes you didn’t want to repeat. You didn’t interrupt because interruption meant you weren’t ready yet.
Silence wasn’t weakness.
It was respect in action.
Somewhere along the way, that got reframed as harmful.
Silence became “suppression.”
Correction became “trauma.”
Authority became “control.”
And in the name of protecting feelings, we stopped teaching posture.
Not just physical posture—moral posture.
We stopped teaching kids how to stand still long enough to absorb something uncomfortable without collapsing or lashing out. We stopped teaching them that not every thought deserves airtime, and not every moment belongs to them.
Instead, we gave them constant validation.
Everyone gets to speak.
Everyone gets to win.
Everyone gets a say—immediately.
That felt fair.
It wasn’t.
Because when everyone talks at once, nobody listens.
When everyone is affirmed, nothing is earned.
When no one is required to be quiet, nothing carries weight.
That’s the coddling nobody wants to admit happened.
Not love.
Not care.
Coddling.
Coddling removes friction.
Friction is where strength forms.
When you tell a child to be quiet while adults are talking, you’re not telling them they don’t matter. You’re telling them this moment is bigger than you.
That lesson builds humility.
Humility builds patience.
Patience builds judgment.
Without it, people grow older but never learn how to wait, listen, or defer.
That’s why so many adults today talk over each other.
Why disagreement feels like violence.
Why correction triggers outrage.
Why being told “not now” feels like an insult.
They were never trained to stand still inside themselves.
They were never taught that silence can be instructional.
That waiting is a skill.
That respect is demonstrated before it’s demanded.
So when they’re challenged now, they don’t adjust.
They protest.
When they’re corrected, they don’t reflect.
They retaliate.
When they lose, they don’t learn.
They change the rules.
That didn’t come from nowhere.
It came from a generation that was spared the discomfort of being told to sit down, straighten up, and pay attention.
“Quiet when adults are talking” wasn’t about power.
It was about sequence.
Listen first.
Understand second.
Speak last—if needed.
That sequence kept people grounded.
It taught that the world doesn’t rearrange itself around your feelings, and that wisdom often enters quietly, not loudly.
Today, we’ve inverted that order.
Speak first.
Feel validated.
Ignore consequence.
And then we wonder why goals feel smaller, why losses feel unbearable, and why no one knows how to win without declaring it.
This isn’t a call to go backward in time.
It’s a call to remember what worked.
You don’t raise strong humans by cushioning every edge.
You raise them by teaching them how to meet resistance without breaking.
Sometimes that starts with something as simple—and as unpopular—as telling someone to be quiet long enough to learn.
Not because they’re unimportant.
But because attention is the price of growth.
And growth has never been comfortable.
micvicfaust@intelligent-people.org
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