I got invited to go with some friends to a game at another school. A senior will be driving us, and I think she’s a good driver, but it’s someone my parents don’t know. I want to tell my parents where I’m going, but what if I ask and they say “no”？ I’ll end up wishing I never mentioned it and just went ahead and did it anyway.

If you want more privileges, it’s best to build a track record of honesty and trust. Letting a parent know where you’re going is always a good idea.

You may worry that telling your parents puts you at risk of getting “no” for an answer. But there’s a good chance your parents might be OK with you going. If you go but don’t tell them, you risk losing something more important—your parents’ trust.

Parents who find out their kids did something behind their backs may be less likely to give permission to do things in the future. When trust is broken like this, parents wonder if teens are trying to hide something—and what they imagine can be far worse than the reality.

Before you talk to your parents about the game, think about which approach will help them feel most comfortable with giving you more freedom. Maybe they’d like to meet the person driving or talk to friends who have driven with her in the past. If your parents have questions or hesitate about letting you go, find out what their worries are and then do your best to answer them.

Papa, as a son of a dirt-poor farmer, left school early and went to work in a factory, for education was for the rich then. So, the world became his school. With great interest, he read everything he could lay his hands on, listened to the town elders and learned about the world beyond his tiny hometown. “There's so much to learn.” he’d say. “Though we’re born stupid, only the stupid remain that way.” He was determined that none of his children would be denied an education.

Thus, Papa insisted that we learn at least one new thing each day. Though, as children, we thought this was crazy, it would never have occurred to us to deny Papa a request. And dinner time seemed perfect for sharing what we had learned. We would talk about the news of the day; no matter how insignificant, it was never taken lightly. Papa would listen carefully and was ready with some comment, always to the point. Then came the moment—the time to share the day’s new learning.

Papa, at the head of the table, would push back his chair and pour a glass of red wine, ready to listen.

“I learned that the population of Nepal is. ..”

Silence.

Papa was thinking about what was said, as if the salvation of the world would depend upon it. “The population of Nepal. Hmm. Well...” he’d say. “Get the map, and let’s see where Nepal is.” And the whole family went on a search for Nepal.

This same experience was repeated until each family member had a turn. Dinner ended only after we had a clear understanding of at least half a dozen such facts.

As children, we thought very little about these educational wonders. Our family, however, was growing together, sharing experiences and participating in one another’s education. And by looking at us, listening to us, respecting our input, affirming our value, giving us a sense of dignity, Papa was unquestionably our most influential teacher.

Later during my training as a future teacher, I studied with some of the most famous educators. They were imparting what Papa had known all along—the value of continual learning. His technique has served me well all my life. Not a single day has been wasted, though I can never tell when knowing the population of Nepal might prove useful.