There’s a moment in fatherhood—quiet, sneaky, and humiliating—when you realise the power dynamic has shifted. Not in the sense that your children are running the house (although let’s be honest, that happened years ago). No, I mean the moment they start winning arguments. Logically. Repeatedly. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
At first, you don’t even see it coming. You think you’re just having one of those routine parent-child exchanges. You give an instruction, they resist, you stand firm, they wobble, you win. That’s how the system works. That’s how it’s always worked.
But then something changes.
It properly dawned on me during a Saturday morning tidy-up. I’d asked my daughter to clean her room, which at the time looked like a small toy shop had exploded in it. She looked at me, completely serious, and said, “But if I clean it now, I’ll just mess it up again when I play. Wouldn’t it be smarter to wait until the end of the day?”
And the thing is… she had a point. A solid one. I stood there, mentally drafting some comeback about routines or respect for shared space, but I couldn’t get around the logic. I’d always said tidying should have a purpose. Now she was using that exact principle to get out of doing it. And I had nothing.
I stood there there in my dressing gown, cup of tea in hand, trying to formulate a comeback and realising—far too late—that I didn’t have one. I had lost the argument. And it wasn’t even 9am.
The Logic Arms Race
It turns out that children develop reasoning skills alarmingly early, especially when those skills can be deployed to avoid wearing weather-appropriate clothing or tidy their Lego. They observe. They listen. They store your words and values like ammunition, ready to be used against you with terrifying precision.
Not long ago, we were talking about screen time limits—a subject guaranteed to trigger diplomatic negotiations on par with Brexit. I explained, quite reasonably I thought, that too much time staring at a screen isn’t good for their brain. My son nodded, then countered: “But school is all on screens now. Homework’s on a laptop. You use a screen for work. Isn’t it more about what I’m doing, not how long I’m looking?”
And just like that, the whole ‘one hour of screen time’ rule collapsed under the weight of nuance. I’d tried to argue in black and white, and he brought greyscale. I ended up amending the rules on the spot—partly because he was right, and partly because I was too tired to come up with a proper counter-argument.
There’s something both impressive and slightly unnerving about it. You spend years trying to teach your kids how to think for themselves, and then one day they actually do—and you find yourself desperately Googling how to outwit a nine-year-old in a debate about bedtime.
The Hypocrisy Trap
The real danger isn’t just that they’ve become good at arguing. It’s that they’ve been listening far more closely than you ever realised.
I realised I’d properly painted myself into a corner the day my daughter refused to let me brush her hair before school, calmly stating, “It’s my body, and I’m in charge of it.”
Now, that’s a phrase I’ve repeated endlessly—and I meant it. We’ve talked about boundaries, consent, all the right things. But in that moment, facing a small human with a matted barnet and the moral high ground, I found myself completely stuck.
Because she wasn’t wrong. It was her body. And she was in charge of it. But she also had what looked like a bird’s nest forming behind her left ear and we were already late for school.
I had two choices: override her entirely and risk undermining a principle I really believe in, or send her out looking like she’d been raised by wolves. In the end, I did what any flustered parent would do—I asked if she’d like to brush it herself “like a grown-up,” and then stood silently nearby while she gave it a vague once-over and declared victory.
But it stuck with me. Not just the battle of the barnet, but the realisation that I’d spent so long trying to raise thoughtful, independent kids—and now I had them.
Letting Go of Being Right
One of the hardest parts of parenting is learning when to let your kids win. Not because you’re giving up, but because you’ve recognised that they might be right—or at least have a point that’s worth listening to.
For years, I thought being a good dad meant being consistent. Holding the line. Avoiding double standards. If I said no to sweets before lunch yesterday, I should say no again today, regardless of how compelling the case may be. But real life—and real kids—don’t work like that. They’re not running test cases under lab conditions. They’re living, adapting, learning in real time.
Now, when one of them pushes back with actual logic, I try not to dig my heels in. I try to see it for what it is: a sign that they’re growing. They’re testing boundaries, yes—but they’re also sharpening their sense of fairness, of cause and effect, of negotiation. And that’s something I want to encourage, even if it occasionally means admitting defeat over the Great Jumper Debate.
For the record, the Great Jumper Debate was less of a debate and more of a complete own: “If I’m not cold now, why would I wear a jumper now? That’s like putting a plaster on when you don’t have a cut.” I couldn’t argue with that. I tried. I failed.
Knowing When to Fold
The biggest shift for me hasn’t been tactical—it’s been emotional. I used to feel personally attacked when one of them out-argued me. Now, I mostly just feel proud. Slightly exasperated, yes. Occasionally betrayed. But mostly proud.
Because these aren’t tantrums. They’re discussions. Messy, improvised ones with occasional chocolate-based bribery—but still, proper discussions. They’re thinking critically. They’re applying ideas. They’re even holding me to my own standards. And honestly, I need that sometimes.
It’s easy, as a parent, to get lazy with logic. To issue instructions from the mountaintop of adulthood, expecting compliance without question. But when your kids start pushing back, it forces you to reassess. Are your rules reasonable? Are you modelling the behaviour you expect? Are you still living by the values you preach?
Sometimes, the answer is yes. Other times, not so much. And the beauty of being challenged—by someone who still thinks farts are comedy gold—is that it keeps you honest.
Raising the Opposition
In the end, I think losing arguments to your kids is one of the strangest and most rewarding signs that you’re doing something right. You’re not just raising children who do as they’re told—you’re raising future adults who can think for themselves. Who can challenge injustice. Who can stand up for what they believe in.
Even if, right now, what they believe in is an absolute right to biscuits after dinner.
So the next time your child turns your own words against you, or dismantles your position with calm, clear logic, take a breath. Remember: you taught them to think. You just didn’t expect them to think so soon.
And then give them a nod, a smile, and—just once in a while—a biscuit. They’ve earned it.
