A FEW weeks ago when I paid a visit to my friend, a primary schoolteacher in Glen Norah. She shared a story that left me deeply unsettled.
One of her nine-year-old pupils had stopped doing homework altogether. The parents were summoned by the school head. Instead of coming to understand the problem, they came ready to fight.
The parents dismissed the issue entirely.
The child watched quietly, wearing an expression that confirmed he knew there would be no consequences at home. What shocked the school head and teacher most was not the child’s behaviour, but the parents’ absolute refusal to accept their role in guiding him.
A few days later in Chiredzi, while visiting my parents (God bless them), I encountered a group of boys hurling vulgar insults at each other.
When I intervened, one of them snapped, “You are not my father.” I knew the boy well, so I mentioned the incident to his father later. Instead of concern, the man simply laughed and brushed it aside. These two encounters, though separated by distance and circumstance, point to the same distressing truth — Zimbabwean parenting is undergoing a quiet but dangerous transformation.
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Increasingly, many children are growing up with parents who are physically present but emotionally absent, while communities have retreated from the shared responsibility that once defined child upbringing in this country.
Parenting, once regarded a sacred duty grounded in love, discipline and community involvement, is becoming fractured, defensive and, in some cases, entirely hands-off.
Part of the problem could lie in the relentless pressures of modern life. Economic instability has turned “hustling” into a national identity.
Parents wake up before sunrise, return long after dark and spend their weekends chasing side incomes.
The narrative of doing it “for the children” has become a comforting refrain, yet it masks a difficult truth: children do not understand sacrifice in the abstract. They understand presence.
A child who sees their parent only when an exhausted figure walks through the door at 10pm does not absorb the message of love behind the sacrifice. They only absorb the loneliness.
Many are being raised by maids, television screens and mobile phones, while parents, though well-intentioned, end up providing materially but abandoning emotionally.
Another troubling trend is the rise of defensive parenting. Teachers across the country have become hesitant to discipline learners because they know one phone call home can result in verbal or even physical intimidation from parents.
A child may bully others, disrespect elders or refuse to work, yet the moment a teacher tries to address that, a parent storms in to protect the child, not correct them.
This behaviour, often born out of misguided love or insecurity, teaches children that accountability is optional and that the rules apply only to others.
It is hardly surprising that we now encounter adults who cannot take correction at work, collapse under pressure or feel entitled to privileges they have not earned.
Compounding this is the pattern of overindulgence. Some parents take pride in doing everything for their children, assuming that it reflects love.
Yet, this kind of parenting produces teenagers who cannot cook, wash their own clothes or manage the smallest responsibilities.
In adulthood, these young people quickly discover that the world does not bend to their convenience. Without the resilience and discipline instilled through age-appropriate responsibilities, they struggle to function independently.
To be fair, some parents argue that the pressures they face make mistake almost inevitable. They insist that they overwork because they want to give their children a better life.
They defend their children because they want to protect them. They spoil them because they want them to feel loved.
Their intentions may be sincere, but good intentions do not always produce good outcomes.
When expressed in the wrong way, love can harm.
Over-protection can weaken. Excess can stunt growth. The consequences are already visible around us: brilliant children with impressive marks but little resilience; teenagers fluent in English but disconnected from their roots; young adults who crumble under stress because they were shielded from hardship.
In recent public discussions on parenting, many people have rightly argued that we need to be more emotionally present in our children’s lives. I wholeheartedly agree. A child who feels heard and validated grows with confidence. However, engagement alone is not enough. Warmth must be balanced with boundaries. Conversations must be paired with consequences. Affection must coexist with authority. If we are to return to raising respectful, disciplined, grounded children, then the parent-child relationship must regain its rightful structure. Parents must be parents again, not passive observers, not fearful appeasers, and certainly not friends who cannot say “no.”
But even strong parents cannot do it alone. What made Zimbabwean society uniquely strong in previous generations was the communal approach to child-rearing. Every adult was responsible for every child. A child could be corrected by a neighbour, an aunt, a church elder or a passer-by and the parents thanked them for stepping in. That framework created discipline, humility and a strong sense of collective responsibility. Today, that village has disappeared. Parents reject outside intervention with hostility. Children boldly declare that no one except their parents can correct them. The community has become silent and powerless.
If we truly want to reclaim the moral compass of our children, we must restore that communal ethic. No family can raise a well-rounded child in isolation. Children need the collective wisdom of the community, the reinforcement of shared values and the watchful eyes of adults beyond their household. This does not mean returning to harsh or oppressive methods, but to a balanced model rooted in mutual respect, accountability and cultural identity.
Zimbabwe stands at a crossroads. The question is whether we are willing to rebuild the structures that once grounded our children. If we restore engaged parenting, firm guidance and communal responsibility, we will raise a generation capable not only of academic success but of emotional strength, humility and respect. A child is never just a child of one household; a child is a child of the community. Only when the community reclaims that truth will we begin to rebuild the child we desire.