If I’m honest, there are a few things I wish I’d done differently when my kids were young.
Back then, I thought I was being loving, encouraging, and helpful. In many ways I was. But over time—first as a dad and now as a grandfather—I’ve seen how some very common parenting habits can feed a mindset that sounds like, “I deserve special treatment. The rules don’t apply to me. My needs come first. Always.”
That’s not the attitude we want to send out into the world.
So here are six everyday behaviors that quietly grow that mindset—and what I try to do instead now. I’ll keep it plain, practical, and judgment-free. Parenting is hard. We’re all learning.
1. Making them the center of the universe
It’s natural to want to make your child feel loved. But there’s a quiet line between “you are loved” and “you are the sun and the rest of us orbit you.”
I crossed that line more than once. If a plan didn’t suit my child, we’d rearrange everything. If a sibling had a turn, I’d stretch the turn “just this once.” If there was one biscuit left, I’d hand it over without a second thought.
Here’s the problem: when a child is consistently placed first, they don’t practice the muscles of sharing, waiting, or considering others. It’s not malicious; it’s what they’ve learned.
What I do now:
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Say “in our family, everyone matters.” Sometimes that means you wait. Sometimes it’s your turn to help someone else shine.
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Build small, daily chances to practice patience. Waiting in line. Letting a sibling go first. Helping carry in the groceries.
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Narrate the why: “We’re dropping Aunt May at the doctor first because she needs us. Then we’ll head to the park.”
Entitlement shrinks when kids see themselves as part of a team.
2. Handing out rewards without effort
I used to gift things “just because.” New toy. Extra screen time. A treat after a tantrum (I’m wincing as I type that). I wanted to cheer them up or keep the peace. It worked in the moment.
But here’s what it taught: rewards arrive no matter the effort. Comfort follows complaints. If I push long enough, I get what I want.
That’s a perfect recipe for “more, please” thinking.
What I do now:
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Tie privileges to contribution, not perfection. You don’t need straight A’s to earn trust—you show up, you try, you help the family.
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Use an allowance-for-chores system or a simple contribution chart. Not to pay for every act of kindness, but to link “we all pitch in” with “we enjoy together.”
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Make gratitude part of the ritual. We write quick thank-you notes, or my grandkids draw a picture after a birthday gift. It takes five minutes and changes the tone from “I expect this” to “I appreciate this.”
Small effort-reward links add up to a sturdy sense of agency.
3. Rescuing them from every consequence
I once called a teacher to argue a grade. I’ve driven back to school with a forgotten project more times than I can count. I smoothed over a rude comment to a relative with, “he’s just tired.”
I meant well. I was protecting my child from pain and embarrassment. But every rescue whispered, “You won’t have to face the results of your choices. Someone will handle it.”
That lesson lingers.
What I do now:
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Let natural consequences do some of the talking—safely and age-appropriately. Forgot the homework? You talk to the teacher. Missed curfew? You lose a privilege and we try again next week.
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Coach before and after, not during. “What’s your plan to remember your gear?” Then later: “How did that plan go? What will you try next time?”
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Save my rescues for true emergencies, not everyday discomfort.
When kids see that choices have outcomes—and that they have the power to change those outcomes—self-respect grows and entitlement thins.
4. Negotiating every boundary
If you’ve ever said “five more minutes” and then made it ten, I’m with you. If “no screens at dinner” became “okay, just tonight,” I’m right there too. We think we’re being flexible. What kids hear is, “push hard enough, and the rules move.”
That’s how a test balloon becomes a habit.
What I do now:
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Set a few clear, consistent family rules. Not twenty—just the important ones. Write them down if it helps: homework before screens; kind words in our home; phones parked in the kitchen at night.
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Follow through calmly. No lectures. No threats. Just the pre-agreed consequence. “You chose more time on the tablet, so you chose to lose it tomorrow.” Then move on.
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Leave room for voice without giving up the boundary. “You don’t like the rule—that’s okay. Tell me what you’d change at our family meeting on Sunday.” Giving kids a proper place to be heard reduces the need to whittle at limits in the moment.
As I covered in a previous post, kids handle limits better when they help shape the system. They may not get their way every time, but they learn that structure is not the enemy—it’s the ground we all stand on.
5. Praising status over effort and character
I used to gush over the win, the A+, the starring role. Who doesn’t love a proud moment? The trouble comes when applause only follows the shiny outcome.
Kids quickly learn to chase status and compare themselves to others. That’s not confidence; that’s a fragile shell. And it can morph into “I deserve the best because I am the best.”
What I do now:
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Praise effort, strategy, and sportsmanship. “You stuck with the tough part.” “I saw you help a teammate up.” “That revision took patience.”
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Celebrate character in public moments. After a school concert, I compliment how they listened to other performers. After a game, we talk about how they handled a bad call.
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Use “if-then” carefully. “If you win, we’ll get pizza” sounds fun but links love to outcomes. I try, “After the game, we’ll have pizza and talk about what you learned.”
When admiration meets effort and values, kids stop chasing rank and start building substance.
6. Modeling that the rules don’t apply to us
This one stings. I’ve whispered “don’t worry about the line, this will be quick.” I’ve told a white lie about a child’s age to save a few dollars. I’ve rolled my eyes at a ref in front of my kid.
What did that teach? We’re special. Other people’s time doesn’t matter. Rules are suggestions.
Kids are expert copycats. They catch what we do more than what we say.
What I do now:
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Practice small, visible integrity. We wait our turn. We return the extra change. We apologize when we bump someone’s trolley. I narrate it: “It’s not our turn yet, so we’ll wait. That’s fair.”
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Draw the line on disrespect. We can disagree with a coach, teacher, or officer while staying polite. I’ve had my grandchildren hear me say, “I don’t agree, but I appreciate your time.” It sets a tone.
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Invite repair. If we mess up—and we will—we fix it together. “I shouldn’t have said that about your teacher. Let’s write an email to clarify respectfully.”
When we show that we live under the same rules as everyone else, kids learn humility without humiliation.
A quick note on the creative side of family life, since you’re here on Artful Parent.
One of the easiest ways to counter “me-first” thinking is to make things for other people. We bake for a neighbor who’s unwell. We make a silly card for a cousin. We draw thank-you doodles. It’s five or ten minutes of crayons and paper, but it shifts the focus from “What do I get?” to “What can I give?” Those small rituals do quiet work on the heart.
If I could go back
If I could speak to my younger self, I’d say: love them fiercely, but don’t crown them. Give generously, but connect it to effort and gratitude. Protect, but don’t prevent every bruise.
Set boundaries, then keep them. Cheer for character more than outcomes. And live the same rules you teach.
That blend—warmth plus limits, generosity plus responsibility—grows kids who know they’re valuable without believing they’re owed.
Short conclusion?
Here it is: our kids don’t need a spotlight; they need a compass. What’s one small shift you’ll try this week?
