Seeing the World Through a Child’s Sense of Fairness

What One Morning Taught Me About Justice, Integrity, and the Quiet Power of Doing What’s Right

This is Part 3 of a 4-part series on incorporating Stoic principles into the life of my son. Each post explores one of the core Stoic virtues — continuing with Justice.

Fairness is a compass.
Justice is the way we walk with it.


We were getting ready for school one morning — a little behind, a little foggy in the head. I was pouring coffee when Bear came into the kitchen with a look that told me something was coming.

“Dad,” he said, calm but firm,
“you said we both have to make our beds before breakfast… but you didn’t make yours.”

He wasn’t trying to catch me.
He wasn’t being rude.
He was holding me to the same standard I’d set for him.

And he was right.

Not long ago, I might’ve brushed it off.
Told him, “Focus on what you’re supposed to do.”
Or given the classic adult line — I was busy. I’ll get to it later.

But my son has always had a strong sense of fairness.
At school.
On the playground.
In our home.

That morning, he wasn’t just focused on himself.
He was focused on both of us doing what we say.


Justice Isn’t Just for Judges

The Stoics believed Justice wasn’t about laws and punishments —
It was about how we live.
How we treat people.
How we show up, even when it’s inconvenient.

My son had already figured that out.

If someone cut in line, he noticed.
If a classmate got blamed unfairly, he spoke up.
If I skipped a step I said was important, he called it out — not to be difficult, but because it mattered to him.

And I almost crushed that instinct.

Not on purpose.

At first, when he pointed out things he thought were unfair,
I’d tell him to just focus on himself.
That he was in charge of himself and let others be in charge of themselves.
That he can’t control other people.

Which is true —
but not the whole truth.

Because kids see deeply.
They feel when something is off.
They care when things aren’t right.

And when we dismiss that…
We risk teaching them to stop caring.

What my son needed wasn’t to be silenced.
He needed help understanding what he was seeing.
Help learning how to move through the world where fairness matters —
But so does grace.
So does compassion.

Justice doesn’t mean policing the world.
It means walking through it with integrity.


A Daily Reset

So now we do a check-in each afternoon or evening.

Not just:
“Did you brush your teeth?”
But:
“Did we clean up after ourselves?”
“Were we respectful?”
“Did anything happen today that you want to talk about or felt wasn’t right?”

Then we talk about it,

really talk about it, and figure out how we felt and what he or I might have done differently next time.

And I give him the grace to say what he’s feeling or thinking, and if I feel he needs a different way of seeing what happened, I’ll steer the conversation in a way that helps him understand.

Because in his eyes —
and honestly, in mine too —

How you do one thing is how you do everything.

And the way we reflect on those things together —
honestly, openly, without shame —
that’s how we build the sense of justice,
one small moment at a time.


Try This Tomorrow:

For You:
Notice one moment where you could act with more fairness — especially when no one’s watching. Choose integrity. Follow through.

Together:
Ask your child to share something that felt unfair today. Then talk through it — not to fix it, but to understand it together. Talk about what integrity might look like next time.


Final Thought

Justice begins in small, quiet places.
A made bed.
An honest word.
A promise kept.

That’s where your child learns it.
And that’s how you show them the path forward.

Step by step.
Side by side.

How I’m Learning to Let Go of What I Can’t Control — One Morning at a Time

What a glass of water, an iPad, and one quiet breath taught me about fatherhood and control.

by A Mindful Dad’s Life

This is Part 1 of a 4-part series on building a Stoic morning routine with my son. Each post explores one of the core Stoic virtues — starting with Wisdom.

It starts early. The light barely breaks the edge of the blinds. He’s with me this week. I hear him rustle the blanket and quietly walk to the couch. No words. No eye contact. Just the quiet tap of his thumb on the iPad. YouTube boots up before the sun has a chance to.

I stand there, holding a glass of water. He won’t drink it. And I just watch him for a second. Wondering, is this it? Is this what single-fatherhood looks like?

It’s not judgment. It’s just an observation. He’s 8. He’s tired. He’s adapting. I am too.

But here’s what I know — in my gut: If I don’t help shape this time with him, the world will.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we begin things. Mornings. Conversations. Relationships. Transitions. And what we teach when we don’t even mean to.

I don’t want our mornings to be just something we survive. I want them to be something we build. Together. Not a schedule I enforce — a rhythm we create. A kind of practice. A shared breath before the day takes off.

And so I’ve turned to something old. Something tested. Stoicism. I’ve read about the virtues — and they feel solid. Honest. Like trail markers in fog.

And the first blazer is Wisdom.

🧠 Wisdom Means Knowing What Matters

Wisdom, in this context, isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about knowing what matters.

Like this:

Can I control whether my son wakes up happy?
 No.

Can I control if he reaches for the iPad?
 Not always.

But I can control what I model.
 I can control the tone I use.
 I can choose presence over impatience.
 That’s Wisdom. And it’s quiet. Almost invisible. But it sets a tone.

When I rush. When I micromanage. When I start barking orders, I can feel the thread snap. We lose the morning.

But if I focus on rhythm — on showing up steady, showing up kind — something shifts. I remind him to drink water. I ask for a hug. I don’t force it.

And he notices. Even if he doesn’t say a word.

🛠 A Tool for Both of Us

So now we do this thing.

After the yawns and stretches. Before screens.

We pause.

Sometimes we light a candle.
 Sometimes we sit in silence.
 Sometimes I ask, “What do you want to be in charge of today?”

He’s 8. But he knows. He just needs room to practice.

🔁 Try This Tomorrow

  • For You: Right after you wake up, take a breath. One deep breath. Say to yourself, “Today, I will focus on what matters.”
  • Together: Once they’re up, before the rush kicks in, sit with them. Light a candle. Say one thing you can’t control today — and let it go. Then say one thing you can — and own it. End with a quiet hope for the day.

Just a minute. Maybe two. But it grounds everything.

✍️ Final Thought

Not every morning will land. Some will be messy. Some will be rushed.

But this isn’t about control. It’s about rhythm. It’s about choosing how you show up, guiding them to make good choices — and letting those choices speak for themselves.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re raising ourselves, too.

If you’ve got a rhythm that works — drop it in the comments. Maybe it helps another parent catch their breath.

Because all of this? It’s practice. And practice makes a path we can walk clearly.