There are few things more humbling than being a parent.

You can have degrees, a successful career, leadership experience, read all the parenting books, and generally feel like you have life somewhat figured out. Then a kid asks you a question you can’t answer. Or your teenager points out that the thing you’re currently lecturing them about is the exact same thing you did yesterday. Or, even better, one of your kids repeats something you said in private. In public. With absolutely no context.

Kids have a remarkable ability to keep us humble. And maybe that’s a good thing.

Humility is one of those character traits I want my kids to develop. But like so many things in parenting, I’ve realized I can’t teach it very effectively if I’m unwilling to keep learning it myself.

Humility Isn’t Thinking Less of Yourself

I think humility is sometimes misunderstood. We can confuse being humble with being weak, insecure, or thinking poorly of ourselves. That’s not what I want for my kids at all.

I want them to be confident. I want them to recognize the gifts God has given them and work hard to develop those gifts. I want them to walk into a classroom, onto a field, into an interview, or into a boardroom knowing they have something valuable to contribute. I just don’t want them to walk into any of those places believing they’re more valuable than everyone else in the room.

That’s the tension I’m trying to teach them.

Confidence recognizes that I have something to contribute. Arrogance assumes what I have to contribute is more important than what everyone else brings. Humility allows us to recognize our strengths without constantly needing to prove we’re better than someone else.

That’s a difficult balance to teach our kids. If I’m being honest, it’s a difficult balance for adults too.

Humility Is Teachable

One of the clearest signs of humility is the ability to be corrected, and that’s a tough one.

Nobody likes hearing they’re wrong. Our natural instinct is usually to explain ourselves, defend our intentions, or point out why the other person doesn’t understand the whole story. Our kids have mastered this instinct beautifully.

“Yeah, but…”

Ask why something happened, and sometimes before you’ve even finished the question, the defense attorney has entered the courtroom and is ready to present evidence.

Of course, I’m not sure adults are much different. We’ve just learned to make our defenses sound more sophisticated.

One of the things I want my kids to learn is how to receive correction without immediately becoming defensive. Listen first. Consider whether there might be some truth in what’s being said. Own what needs to be owned, learn from it, and move forward.

That’s humility. And the annoying part of parenting is that I can’t really expect my kids to do that if they never see me do it.

Sometimes Dad Is Wrong

I’ve written before about the importance of apologizing to our kids, and I think that’s one of the most practical ways we can model humility.

There have been plenty of times when I’ve overreacted, misunderstood a situation, lost my patience, made an assumption, or simply gotten something wrong. Being Dad doesn’t magically make me right.

I used to think admitting I was wrong might somehow diminish my authority as a parent. I’ve come to believe the opposite is true. Saying, “I’m sorry. I was wrong,” shows my kids that authority and humility aren’t opposites. In fact, the people we trust most are often the people who are secure enough to admit when they’ve made a mistake.

Our kids don’t need to believe their parents are perfect. They’re going to figure out we’re not eventually anyway. What they need to see is what a grown adult does when he realizes he’s wrong.

Do I defend myself? Blame somebody else? Pretend it didn’t happen? Or can I look my child in the eye and say, “I was wrong. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Those words aren’t always easy to say. That’s precisely why they’re important.

Humility on the Field

Sports have given us plenty of opportunities to talk about humility in our family.

It’s interesting because we spend so much time encouraging kids to become confident competitors. We tell them to believe in themselves, work hard, play aggressively, and expect to succeed. I believe all of that. But sports also provide an incredible laboratory for teaching kids what to do with success once they experience it.

How do you treat the teammate who isn’t as talented as you? Can you genuinely celebrate someone else’s success? Can you take coaching when you think you already know the answer? Can you do the unglamorous job that helps the team win even if nobody notices? Can you be the best player on the field without constantly reminding everyone that you’re the best player on the field?

One of my favorite leadership frameworks comes from Patrick Lencioni’s The Ideal Team Player: Humble, Hungry, and Smart. There’s a reason humble comes first. Talent might get someone’s attention, but humility makes people want to keep you around.

I want my kids to work hard. I want them to compete. I want them to pursue excellence and discover just how much they’re capable of accomplishing. But I never want their accomplishments to convince them they’re more valuable than somebody else.

Talent matters. Character matters more.

Humility and Service

I also think one of the best antidotes to pride is service. It’s difficult to believe the entire world revolves around you when you’re regularly doing things for people who can do absolutely nothing for you in return.

Jesus gave us perhaps the ultimate picture of this when He washed His disciples’ feet. Think about the significance of that moment. The person in the room with every right to be served chose instead to serve everyone else.

That’s leadership turned upside down.

Our culture can sometimes present leadership as climbing high enough that other people have to serve you. Get enough power, influence, money, followers, or status and eventually you become important enough that other people take care of the inconvenient things.

Jesus modeled something completely different. The greater your influence, the greater your opportunity to serve.

That’s the kind of leadership I want my kids to understand.

Teaching Humility at Home

So how do we actually teach this?

For starters, I think we have to be willing to let our kids lose. They don’t need us arguing every grade, every call, every playing-time decision, or every disappointment on their behalf. Sometimes they need to discover that someone else is better. Sometimes they need to work harder. And sometimes they simply need to shake someone’s hand and say, “Good job.”

Losing isn’t the opposite of success. Sometimes it’s one of our greatest teachers.

We can also intentionally create opportunities for our kids to serve. Help a neighbor. Serve at church. Carry something for someone. Write a thank-you note. Clean up a mess they didn’t make. Look for the person standing alone and go talk to them. Service has a way of reminding us that we’re not the center of every story…or as the kids say, we’re not the “main character.”

And perhaps most importantly, we can let our kids see humility in us. Let them hear us apologize. Let them watch us change our minds when we receive better information. Let them hear us say, “I don’t know.” Let them see us accept correction without immediately getting defensive.

We’re constantly teaching our kids what adulthood looks like, whether we realize it or not. I want mine to learn that mature people don’t have to pretend they have everything figured out.

Final Thoughts

I want confident kids. I want them to dream big, work hard, develop their gifts, lead well, and walk into whatever God calls them to do believing they’re capable.

But I want all of that confidence anchored by humility.

I want them to know they’re valuable without believing they’re more valuable than someone else. I want them to experience success without needing recognition for everything they accomplish. I want them to lead without needing to be served. I want them to be strong enough to admit when they’re wrong and secure enough to celebrate when someone else wins.

And maybe that’s one of the hardest things about teaching humility: I can’t just tell them to be humble.

My kids are watching how I respond when I’m corrected. They’re watching what happens when somebody else gets the credit, when things don’t go my way, when I’m asked to do something that might seem beneath me, and when I realize I was wrong. What I do in those moments will probably teach them more about humility than anything I could ever say.

Which brings me back to where we started.

There are few things more humbling than being a parent.