The day I became a tyrant (and why my kids needed it) 🎃

Let’s just say, I might’ve taught Juniper the wrong thing.

When she was four, I had this grand vision: I’d raise her to be a girl boss, unstoppable, fiercely independent—the kind of woman who’d one day run her own empire. The mantra? “You can do what you want.”

Broccoli? Optional. As long as she negotiated for a carrot or something halfway nutritious, she was in charge. My aim was to show her that everything was negotiable and boundaries? Flexible.

Well, fast forward a few weeks and I had a reality check.

“Juniper, please clean the loft before dinner.” I asked her.

“No,” she replied coolly. “I want to read a book.”

“Juniper, it’s important to clean up and have a tidy home.” I lectured.

“But I can do whatever I want to do. I don’t want to clean. I want to read.” She rebutted.

Cue the internal facepalm. Looks like I’d created a bit of a problem.

So, I’m listening to this podcast between Jordan Peterson and Katharine Birbalsign — the strictest headmistress in all of Britain (think Harry Potter’s Professor McGonagall, but with even more backbone) — and she hits me with a story that made me sit up straight.

Oof. Guilty as charged. I’ve been there. Asking my kids where they want to go for lunch as if they’re paying. Hearing Kim give them the choice between vegetables or fruit like they’re at a Michelin-star restaurant. Even offering the option of joining me at the library versus hitting the park on bikes. It’s a parenting democracy over here.

But the real takeaway from Katharine’s words was a revelation: Sometimes, freedom isn’t the gift we think it is. Kids actually thrive when they know the adults are steering the ship, when there are rules and a sense of structure. Kids are happier, homes are calmer, and everyone can actually enjoy themselves because the power struggle has left the building.

Turns out, a little bit of good old-fashioned rule-following might just be what makes them feel most loved. Who knew?

Restricting freedom in practice — breakfast bootcamp

I’m going to tell you a story, a true story of what happened this Saturday morning when I decided to put Katharine’s lessons to the test.

This morning I woke up and decided to make breakfast, but not just any breakfast, a healthy feast: eggs, broccoli, chicken, and rice — no pancakes or sugary cereals in sight, just good, honest fuel.

Now, I know my kids. I know exactly what’s coming. The moment they see the green stuff, there’ll be a chorus of, “Yuck,” “I don’t want it” or the classic, “I want something else!”

See, up until today, we weren’t very strict with eating. Kim learned through some random Instagram influencer that we shouldn’t guilt children about what they eat. We should encourage good eating habits, but if they don’t want to eat their broccoli, that’s ok, because they’ll eventually learn to eat it. So we learned to respond with something like, “You can try it. If you don’t like it, then you can choose something else.”

But not today. Today, I felt that vintage parent energy. I was ready to lay down the law, Katharine-style. This time, I won’t negotiate, I’m dictating. “Eat the broccoli,” I’m prepared to say, “or face the consequences.”

Juniper (7) and Kimbal (5) traipsed down to the table, took one look at my healthy breakfast, and—like they’d rehearsed it—groaned in unison, “Yuck! I don’t like it. Can I eat something else?”

I held my ground, "No, this is your breakfast. Those that finish all of their breakfast can go to the Trunk or Treat today."

I had an ace up my sleeve. Today was Kimbal’s Trunk or Treat event at school and they were both eager to go.

Jaws hit the floor — they were shocked about their predicament.

Juniper jumped in first with her negotiation strategy, “Can I just eat half?”

“No.” I stood firm.

“Can I just eat the rice?”

“No. Eat it all.”

Dumfounded, they stared at their food and poked at it with their spoons like it might magically disappear. We were getting no where, so it was time to get serious.

“You each have 25 minutes to finish.” I presented the timer on the table. “If you finish, you can go with Mami to the Trunk or Treat. If you don’t, then you stay at home with Papi.” And just like that, I became the broccoli overlord – a benevolent dictator in my own kitchen.

Juniper read the steely look on my face and decided not to test the waters — she dove into that broccoli like it was dessert.

Kimbal, on the other hand, is our little rebel. She strolled to the pantry with the confidence of a kid who thought she outsmarted the system, grabbed some cereal, and shuffled back without so much as a glance my way — after all, eye contact would have confirmed her breakfast treason.

“You can have the cereal,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “but what do you need to eat if you want to go to Trunk or Treat?” A reminder of who was in charge.

“That…” she muttered, her tiny finger pointing dejectedly at the bowl of broccoli and chicken.

Juniper ate well, but she worried about Kimbal, who had resorted to poking the food with her finger. Eager to help, Juniper took a spoon full of Kimbal’s food and scarfed it down.

Learning opportunity: On the surface, it’s of course great that Juniper helped Kimbal — Juniper learned to help those in need and Kimbal learned that she can depend on her older sister for help. However, I quickly put a stop to it to teach a valuable lesson, “Before you help someone else, make sure you finish what you need to do.” In other words, don’t try to save the world if you haven’t made your own bed.

5 minutes left. I was worried.

Juniper managed to finish her food, but Kimbal was staring down a still-full bowl. Even with Juniper in full help-my-sister-at-all-costs mode, I knew the odds of Kimbal finishing in time were about as good as winning the lottery. The clock ticked on, and reality set in: Kimbal was about to experience the harsh justice of unfinished veggies.

1 minute left.

Juniper was frantically shoveling Kimbal’s food like it was the last supper. Kimbal? Completely sidetracked by a crumb on her napkin.

“Kimbal!!! There’s no time! You have to eat your food…” Juniper exasperated.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

The timer rang.

“Juniper, you finished. You can go to the Trunk or Treat.” I inspected the bowls. “Kimbal, you didn’t finish. You have to stay with Papi at home.”

Cue meltdown.

I had to hold the line. I had to stay true to my word or else my word would be meaningless in the future. But thankfully, I kept my cool. I scooped up Kimbal, smothered her in a million kisses, and carried her upstairs to wail it out with Mami.

“Jun, don’t be ridiculous,” Kim sighed, pulling out the “mom voice” that always gets me. “She was really looking forward to Trunk or Treat. Can’t we just let her go? She ate some of her breakfast…”

Lesson learned: You and your partner absolutely need to be on the same page. But who could blame Kim for folding? She’s all heart. I’m… well, apparently the overlord of unfinished broccoli.

“No. She needs to learn discipline and know that we mean what we say. She can’t go.” I put my foot down as Kimbal’s wails grew louder in the background.

Sigh. This was turning into a headache. I headed back downstairs to find Juniper, and there she was, steadily working through Kimbal’s broccoli as if on some noble rescue mission.

“I really want Kimbal to come,” Juniper pleaded.

Insight: There’s always something that you can do. Even though Juniper knew that Kimbal didn’t complete her task, she held on hope that she could change my mind. And hey, when kids get that sparkle of inspiration in their eye, it’s best to walk away and let them work their magic, so I went upstairs to take a shower.

A few moments later, I heard the pitter-patter of feet—Juniper, proudly hauling a still-sniffling Kimbal by the hand. She whispered something in Kimbal’s ear, and they both marched back down as if on an important mission.

“Hmmmm, this could get interesting.” I thought.

Soon enough, Kimbal reappeared, sporting a smug grin and those big, puppy-dog eyes. “Papi… I finished my food. Can I go to the Trunk or Treat now?”

This was it — a decision had to be made: should I be a strict tyrant and squash this budding hope… or maybe it was time for a lesson in second chances?

I’m reminded of Nick Huber on X. His son painstakingly saved up $5 for an ice cream, only to drop it on the fifth lick. Nick just watched it melt. Didn't buy him another one.

That was “cold bloooooooooded.” (if you know the Rick James skit, then you know).

So... should I channel my inner Nick Huber and continue my tyranny?

Nah, she’d already paid the price for her rebellion with that waterfall of tears. The universe had already taught her a lesson; now, it was my turn to show her a bit of grace.

I headed back down to inspect her bowl, and true to her word, it was empty (mostly thanks to Juniper’s covert efforts). But there Kimbal stood, eyes sparkling with hope, trying her best “innocent angel” look. How could I say no to that?

Learning opportunity: Second chances aren't just about bending the rules — they're a way to teach grace and forgiveness. Sometimes, a little wiggle room is where the real lessons lie.

“Ok Kimbal, you get a second chance.” I explained while filling up a smaller bowl with 2 bites worth of broccoli, rice, egg, and chicken. “If you finish this in 3 minutes, then you can go.”

You’d think I’d announced the great food race. This girl went into turbo mode, shoveling in bites like her life depended on it. Juniper joined in, her own personal cheer squad, chanting, “Go Kimbal, go! Go Kimbal, go!”

She wiped that bowl clean with a full minute to spare.

“Kimbal, because you were responsible with your second chance, you can come with us to the Trunk or Treat.” I proudly told her.

“Yay!!! I can go Trunk or Treating! I can go Trunk or Treating!” Kimbal sang while dancing towards the car. She had the greatest look of accomplishment on her face, something that we would have missed had Kim and I caved in to her cries of despair. Sometimes, you’ve just got to hold the line and let the lesson simmer. Stick with it, and they’ll surprise you in the best ways.

Kim and I had a bit of a reality check today: turns out, we’ve been a little soft around the edges. We learned that when we set fair, clear rules, these kids of ours will actually rise to the occasion. But it only works if we’re in sync—if we say something’s going to happen, it has to happen. No exceptions.

But here’s the real breakthrough: a disciplined household still has room for kindness, second chances, and a bit of mercy, too. I’m no longer teaching, “Do what you want,” but rather, “Loayzas do the right thing and the good thing.” Now, Juniper and Kimbal know that in our family, we’re expected to aim high — to do right and to do good.

Key lessons

1. Gentle Parenting is Dead (well, almost): Kids don’t need unlimited freedom—they need the kind that has clear boundaries, like a well-fenced dog park. Let them run, but make sure they know who’s calling the shots. Freedom within structure breeds the good stuff.

2. Set High Standards and Watch Them Hustle: Kids will meet your standards, whether high or low. Today, Juniper and Kimbal didn’t just lick the broccoli and walk away. Nope, they finished their whole plate because the bar was set, and it wasn’t budging. Keep the bar up there!

3. Get on the Same Page as Your Partner: Be one, united parental force. If you say broccoli is happening, broccoli happens. Otherwise, you’re just auditioning for the role of “Favorite Parent” (and spoiler: no one wins that game).

4. Stay True to Your Word (Even When it Hurts): If you said it, stick with it. Sure, it feels brutal in the moment, but a consistent ‘yes’ or ‘no’ today saves you from the little negotiator-in-training tomorrow.

5. Second Chances are Golden: Yes, discipline is key, but so is grace. It’s not about being a drill sergeant; it’s about teaching them that while rules matter, compassion does too.

Hope this hit home for you — because it sure was a ride for us. If today’s saga of tyranny, discipline, and broccoli battles gave you an insight, or even a little validation, pass it along to another brave parent on this journey. The best compliment you can give is spreading the word about Dad Smarter Not Harder (this email list).

Oh, and a heads-up: I’m building an entrepreneurial course for pre-teens and teens. My goal is to help my children dream up tech, e-commerce, or creator businesses. If you want your kids in on that action, shoot me a note!

Thanks for sticking with me—see you next Sunday!

God bless,
Jun Loayza