There’s a kind of magic in the way a grandparent’s words land.
Maybe it’s the slower pace, or the fact that we’ve lived long enough to see how today’s knots usually untangle; maybe it’s simply that kids sense when someone is fully present with them, no phone in hand, no rush to be somewhere else.
Whatever the reason, I’ve noticed that certain things we say get stored away like treasures.
Years later, they’ll be pulled out at just the right moment—before a big exam, after a breakup, or on the first day of a new job.
I’ve watched it happen with my own grandchildren on our rambling walks around the park.
One little sentence, well-timed and sincere, can be the north star they carry for decades.
If you’re a parent or fellow grandparent, here are seven things worth saying often; not as scripts to perform, but as truths to live and repeat until they stick:
1) “I’m proud of you.”
Simple? Yes.
Overused? Never.
Kids are drowning in feedback about performance—grades, goals, rankings, likes.
“I’m proud of you” cuts through all of that when it’s attached to effort, character, or courage rather than outcomes.
It tells a child, I notice who you’re becoming.
When one of my grandsons switched from forward to goalie in his soccer league, he was terrified; he let in a couple of goals early and looked ready to cry.
On our walk home I said, “I’m proud of you for trying something new and sticking with it.”
Not “I’m proud you won,” nor “I’m proud you saved four shots.”
I praised the choosing, the trying, the resilience.
What do kids remember? The feeling of being seen.
Over time, that shapes their internal voice—on days when the world is noisy, that voice can whisper, “Keep going. You’re doing fine.”
If you’re thinking, But what if they misbehave?, I hear you.
“I’m proud of you” isn’t a free pass because boundaries matter.
But anchoring praise to values—honesty, kindness, perseverance—helps those boundaries make sense as it teaches that pride is earned not in trophies, but in choices.
2) “You can tell me anything.”
Kids keep secrets when they fear reaction more than they trust relationship.
A calm face and steady tone do more for honesty than any lecture ever will.
When a child confesses, that’s not the time to interrogate.
It’s the time to listen, breathe, and say, “I’m glad you told me.”
Years ago, one of my granddaughters admitted she’d copied a friend’s homework.
She stared at her shoes, waiting for the thunderclap.
Instead, we talked about the why—feeling behind, and embarrassed to ask for help—and the what-next—apologizing, making a plan, rebuilding trust.
She remembers that conversation not because I delivered a perfect speech, but because I didn’t flinch.
Try this line: “There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me stop loving you.”
It’s not a promise to ignore consequences; it’s a promise that consequences will sit beside unconditional love, not replace it.
3) “Let’s figure it out together.”
Grandparents are notorious for advice—guilty as charged!
However, I’ve learned that curiosity is often more helpful than answers.
“Let’s figure it out together” turns a problem into a project and replaces shame with agency.
The other afternoon, my youngest grandson asked how to handle a classmate who kept teasing him during group work.
The old me might’ve given a tidy list: say this, do that, tell the teacher.
Instead, we sketched options on a napkin.
What could he say? How might the classmate respond? What would he do then? We even practiced a line or two.
He walked away taller, not because I rescued him but because he discovered he could steer the ship.
Here’s a question I use a lot: “What do you think is the first step?”
That word—first—shrinks the mountain.
Kids remember the feeling of starting small and building momentum.
Years later, the habit of breaking problems into steps remains, long after Grandpa’s specific advice has faded.
4) “I love you exactly as you are.”
Every child deserves to hear those words without a comma followed by “if” or “when.”
“I love you exactly as you are” doesn’t mean “I expect nothing of you.”
It means love arrives first and stays, whether the report card shines or not, whether they wear glitter boots or muddy sneakers—it’s the message that settles the nervous system.
When I say this to my grandkids, I try to pair it with curiosity about who they already are.
These are present truths as kids remember being mirrored back to themselves.
Say it at odd times, not just after achievements or on birthdays; say it when you’re stuck in traffic, while you’re untangling a kite string, when the pancakes burn.
Love that shows up in ordinary moments sinks the deepest roots.
5) “This too shall pass.”
Do you remember your first big disappointment?
At that age, it’s all-encompassing: A friend moves away, a part in the school play goes to someone else, or braces arrive the week before photos.
Kids feel things intensely (a gift, really) and can mistake “this feels awful” for “this is forever.”
“This too shall pass” is a gentle counterweight.
It’s a reminder that feelings are weather—real, sometimes wild, always moving through.
On a drizzly Saturday, one of my grandsons was devastated after missing the penalty that would’ve tied his game.
We walked our usual loop around the lake.
He wanted to replay the moment twelve different ways and I let him.
Then I said, “Right now it hurts, and it won’t always. What would future-you want to remember about how you handled today?”
He decided to text his teammate who’d scored earlier, just to say “nice shot.”
That small act turned the page; kids remember that time bends and that the stuck feeling loosens.
Adults forget this, too—so saying it out loud helps us both.
6) “Thank you for your help.” or “I need your help…”
Gratitude is glue in families.
When a grandparent says, “Thank you for your help,” it does more than teach manners; it tells a child their contribution matters.
Children light up when they feel useful.
A grandparent who invites participation is building competence brick by brick. Later, that turns into confidence.
I’ll confess, there’s a stubborn streak in me that wants to do everything myself.
Age has softened that. I ask my grandkids to set the table, to choose a new park path, to read the recipe steps aloud while I cook.
Then I say, “Thank you. You made this easier.”
It’s a small sentence with a big echo.
Here’s the hidden lesson they remember: Needing people is normal and asking is community-like.
When life gets hard, they’re more likely to reach out rather than collapse inward.
7) “Our stories matter.”
Children are meaning-makers. They love to know where they come from and how the puzzle pieces fit.
When we say, “Our stories matter,” and then we tell them—warts, wisdom, and all—we gift them identity and context.
I keep a mental drawer of short stories: How their great-grandmother worked the night shift and still packed school lunches at dawn, or how their aunt convinced me to adopt a dog named Lottie after promising she’d walk her every day (we both know who ends up walking who).
I don’t turn these into lectures. I tell them like campfire tales, with a smile and a lesson tucked in at the end.
Kids remember family lore because it performs a magic trick: It turns them from isolated points into part of a constellation.
They learn that people they love have struggled and kept going.
When their own hard chapter arrives, they’re less likely to think,
It’s just me, and more likely to think, This is a page in a long, resilient book.
A bonus? Stories create rituals—we have a “one new story” rule on birthdays and first days of school.
The honoring of milestones with shared memory becomes a memory itself.
Conclusion
Children are expert pattern-spotters.
If the pattern they see is love first, curiosity over control, gratitude in the ordinary, and hope in the hard moments, they’ll internalize it.
Before I wrap up, a small change you can try this week: Pick one of the seven and put it to use.
Say it on the school run, during a video call, at bedtime and watch for how your child or grandchild responds—not just with words, but with a softening in their shoulders, a longer exhale, and maybe even a little grin.
Because that’s the secret, isn’t it? The right words, offered often, become a place to rest.
Personally, I hope that—years from now—when life gets loud for them, they’ll still hear them—like a lighthouse on a foggy night.
What’s one line you want a child you love to carry for the next fifty years?
