Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 168
Between Dominion and Authority: Which Do Parents Have Over Children, and for What Purpose?

Parents are powerful, but not all power is the same.
There is a dangerous line between authority that protects and forms, and dominion that controls, suppresses, or damages. Many parenting conflicts today are not about love, but about misunderstanding what kind of power adults truly have over children and why.

In this episode, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami tackles one of the most misunderstood questions in parenting and child safeguarding:

Do parents own children, or are they entrusted with them?

This conversation challenges cultural norms, religious misinterpretations, and generational habits that confuse control with care. It reframes parental authority as responsibility with limits, not domination without accountability, calling parents back to purpose, restraint, and child-centred leadership.

If you are a parent, educator, faith leader, or policymaker, this episode will confront you and clarify you.

📅 Friday, 6th February, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST
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#TAINMINUTES #ParentingAuthority #ChildSafeguarding #RaisingChildren #ParentalResponsibility

17 hours ago | [YT] | 2

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#50PlusDad Reflections

How I Teach My 4-Year-Old Values: Values Are Caught Before They Are Taught

Last Saturday, at the immersion of Cohort 5 of the LegacyNow® Leadership Project, a question surfaced that has stayed with me: How do we teach our children values?

As a 50-plus dad, I answered from lived experience, especially from how I am raising my four-year-old son. And this is where I have landed: values cannot be discussed in isolation.

Values are not techniques or a parenting “style.” Values are commitment to universal principles, God’s moral order, by which human life is governed. They become the compass that shapes how we live, how we choose, and how we lead.

But here is the key: the aim of communicating values is not merely to produce “good behaviour.” The deeper aim is to raise a child who is conscious of the dignity of the human person.

When a child is conscious of dignity, discipline stops being punishment and becomes identity. Certain behaviours become beneath them, not because someone is watching, but because they know who they are. There are places they will not go, words they will not use, and choices they will not make, simply because their sense of self has been formed.

This is why we begin with a fundamental principle: whatever values we want our children to embrace, we must exemplify them. Our children are either beneficiaries or casualties of our examples. Upon that foundation, we build six anchors through which values can take root.

First: Identity, he is made in the image and likeness of God.

This is where worth begins. Before I tell him what to do, I establish who he is. I want him to know he is not an accident, not disposable, not inferior, and not defined by emotion or noise. He is of worth. But identity is not only communicated; it is demonstrated. It begins with how we treat our child, how we listen, how we instruct, how we direct, how we preserve dignity in our tone and approach. A child is a full human being. There is a respect that his individuality deserves. We cannot say, “You are made in God’s image,” and treat him as though he is not valuable. Values are better demonstrated than communicated; the way we treat him helps him understand how valued he truly is.

Second: Judgment, he has the power to think.

As he grows more conversational, we enter seasons of reasoning together. He asks questions, and I do not shut them down simply because I am the father. I want him to exercise his capacity for judgment. I want him to know he can think. So we reason: “Why do you think that happened?” “What do you think is right?” “If you do this, what might happen?” I am training him to understand that his mind is not decoration; it is a tool for discernment.

Third: Choice, he has the power to choose.

When I need him to make a decision, I often present alternatives: “Would you like this or that?” “Would you rather do this first or that first?” I guide him, but I allow him to choose. And then I do the next thing: I explain the implications of his choice. He is learning that choice is never empty; choice carries consequences. Sometimes, after he hears the implications, he says by himself, “Okay, Daddy… I want to change my choice.” That is not disobedience; that is maturity forming.

Fourth: Consequences, choices come with responsibility.

This is where values become real. When he chooses, we talk about benefits and costs, pros and cons, not with fear, but with clarity. “If you do that, this is what it leads to.” “If you don’t do that, this is what happens.” I want him to see life as a moral system, not a random event. Over time, he begins to judge matters by himself: “Daddy, this is the reason this won’t work.” That is values developing, internally.

Fifth: Leadership, leadership is now, because responsibility is now.

I tell him, in practical ways, that leadership is not something you wait for. Leadership is now. I teach him that leadership is the ability to correspond to responsibility. So he handles small responsibilities: when he finishes eating, he takes his plate to the sink; when he finishes playing, he returns his toys to where they belong. When he returns from daycare, he keeps his clothes, shoes, and school bag in their designated places. He learns order. He learns follow-through. He learns that responsibility is not punishment; it is dignity expressed in action.

Sixth: Wisdom for restraint, not everything permissible is beneficial.

I also teach him restraint: treats are treats, not daily meals. So when he asks for snacks, I may say, “No problem, but you have not taken your lunch. Take your lunch first, then you can have your snack.” If we go out and he asks for a particular food, I may say, “Yes, you had it yesterday. You cannot have it today, because that is a treat, something we do once in a while, not what we do every day.” In these small moments, values enter the bloodstream of daily life.

This is how values are inculcated, not by long lectures, but by lived order, repeated clarity, and consistent example. And I can see it working. My son reasons. He reflects. He explains his “why” more and more. That, to me, is values at work.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

2 days ago (edited) | [YT] | 18

Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 167
Neither Technology nor Advocacy Raises Children: Assessing a 21st-Century Parenting Principle That Works

Technology is powerful. Advocacy is important. But neither can replace the daily, deliberate work of parenting. In a time when many adults outsource formation to devices, schools, movements, or policies, children are growing up informed but not always formed.

In this episode, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami confronts a hard truth of modern parenting. Tools do not raise children. Campaigns do not raise children. Parents do. He examines why access to technology and exposure to advocacy, without grounded parental leadership, often produces confusion rather than character. The conversation re-centers responsibility on primary and secondary parents, calling for presence, clarity, values, and consistent guidance in a noisy, fast-moving world.

📅 Friday, 30th January, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST

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#TAINMINUTES #Parenting #RaisingChildren #21stCenturyParenting #ChildFormation #Leadership #Education #Family #Values

1 week ago | [YT] | 7

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#50plusdad Reflections

Fela, Atiku, Davido: Priceless Lessons on Fatherhood, Legacy, Restraint, and Change

Last week felt like an unofficial “Fathers’ Week” in Nigeria, not by decree, but by the sheer volume of public conversations that touched fatherhood, legacy, family name, and what children do with the worlds they inherit. As a #50plusdad raising a son in my own twilight seasons, I watched three stories and extracted one composite lesson: fatherhood is not only biological; it is cultural, reputational, and generational.

The first story was political. A son of a major national political figure, former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, publicly aligned himself with the ruling party, a choice many interpreted as standing with the incumbent camp against his father’s political interests. The public reaction was predictable: questions about loyalty, ambition, independence, and whether a son’s political distance is a commentary on a father’s viability. In our culture, symbolism is read into everything, especially when it plays out inside a family.

Yet what held my attention was not the son’s decision; it was the father’s response. Atiku described his son’s move as a personal choice and refused to turn it into a family war. That restraint is fatherhood in public: absorbing what could embarrass and still choosing dignity. It is one thing to be disagreed with; it is another to be disagreed with publicly by one’s own. In moments like that, the temptation is to retaliate, disown, or weaponize affection. But fatherhood, at its mature end, is often the discipline of refusing to destroy what we did not create. We did not create human will; we only steward influence. Scripture says, “Train up a child in the way he should go…” (Proverbs 22:6). Training is not coercion; it is formation. And formation still leaves room for agency.

The second story was personal, but it became public by force. Davido’s father, Dr. Adedeji Adeleke, spoke about a paternity allegation that had trailed the family, stating that DNA tests showed Davido was not the child’s father. I watched that moment less as a father “defending a son” and more as a patriarch defending a family name, because reputations do not separate neatly in public discourse. When a child is called out, the household is dragged into the courtroom of opinion, and fathers, by the nature of position, often become the first line of institutional response.

What struck me most was how avoidable many public storms are, especially when there has been some level of contact to begin with. In Dr. Adeleke’s statement, he did not argue that there was no prior relationship; rather, he focused on the fact that the paternity claim was tested and disproved. That detail matters, because it quietly points to a lesson without turning the moment into a moral trial.

Public figures attract opportunists, yes, and allegations can arise even where there was no intimacy. But when there has been a liaison, however brief, the door opens wider to needless controversy. A moment of indiscretion can become a prolonged reputational tax: attention, energy, emotional bandwidth, public trust, and the dignity of everyone involved. Scripture’s warning is therefore practical, not preachy: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches” (Proverbs 22:1). A name is not only a label; it is a legacy container.

Nobody is perfect, and this is not written from a place of judgment. It is written as a reminder, especially to young people that self-governance is protective. Restraint is not punishment; it is preservation. When we live casually, we make our future more expensive than it needs to be. When we live wisely, we reduce the needless battles our parents, spouses, and children may one day have to fight in our name.

The third story was cultural: the online flare-up that followed a comment credited to Wizkid, an audacious comparison that placed his relevance above Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s. What interested me was not the claim itself (people will always talk), but the family’s mixed responses and the lesson hidden inside them.

Two members of Fela’s family chose restraint. They disagreed without becoming disagreeable. They corrected the tone without turning the moment into an exchange of insults. That is not weakness; it is emotional government, the quiet strength of knowing that not every provocation deserves a reply, and not every reply deserves a stage.

Another member of the family, Seun Kuti, took a more combative route and entered the arena. I acknowledge his right to do so. Everyone has a right to defend their father’s name, and in our clime, silence is sometimes interpreted as consent. Yet even when that right exists, wisdom still asks a harder question: is this the best use of voice and energy? There is a difference between defending legacy and feeding noise; between correction and escalation. Not every barking dog deserves a stone; if we stop to throw at every dog, we may never reach our destination, says Churchill.

Because greatness is not established by debate. Greatness is established by facts, impact, innovation, endurance, and the capacity to shape a generation. Time eventually sifts both hype and heritage. Nobody holds the crown forever, whether in music, sport, politics, or any other human empire. The same history that crowned champions has also replaced them. Muhammad Ali was a giant, and yet boxing moved on. Pelé was a legend, and football produced other legends. Their replacements did not diminish their greatness; they proved the continuity of the human story.

That is why I resist the fear that someone else’s rising automatically means someone else’s fall. A pioneer lays a foundation; others build on it. That building does not cancel the pioneer; it confirms him. Scripture puts the principle on record: “One generation shall praise thy works to another, and shall declare thy mighty acts.” (Psalm 145:4). Continuity is not competition; it is calling.

And for fathers, biological fathers and “industry fathers”, this is not only a cultural lesson; it is a fatherhood lesson. The prayer is not that our children should remain beneath us forever; the prayer is that they should go farther, with better tools and deeper reach. The glory of the former can be real, and yet the latter can be greater, without disrespect, without insecurity, without panic.

So the better posture is this: let greatness speak for itself. Let legacy be defended by substance, not by shouting. And when provoked, let response be governed by wisdom, not by the need to win a moment, but by the commitment to preserve dignity.

These three stories, political independence, family name under scrutiny, and cultural legacy under debate, converge into one sobering reflection for anyone raising children today, we do not only raise children; we raise interpreters. Children interpret what we do, what we tolerate, what we celebrate, and what we hide. And those interpretations become their adult choices.

This is why fatherhood cannot be reduced to provision alone. Provision without values is simply funding a future we may not like. Provision without relationship is building a house where affection does not live. Scripture places the weight where it belongs: “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it… Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord.” (Psalm 127:1–3). Heritage is not merely inheritance; it is identity handed over.

In our own homes, what we most need, especially as we grow older is the humility to accept that fatherhood is never finished; it only changes form. When sons choose differently, we can respond with bitterness or with maturity. When public storms rise, we can defend truth without becoming rabble-rousers. When culture debates legacy, we can disagree without becoming disagreeable. In all of it, we can remember that children may not repeat our instructions, but they often repeat our patterns.

So my #50plusdad reflection is simple: fatherhood is stewardship. The goal is not control; the goal is formation. The goal is not to “win” every family conflict; the goal is to preserve relationship, character, and name. And the hope is that what we deposit, values, restraint, faith, and love, will outlive the noise of any season.

If we hold that line, then even when children make choices we would not make, we still have room to bless, to guide, to correct, and to keep the door open because the end of fatherhood is not dominance; it is legacy with dignity.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

#Fatherhood #Legacy #Parenting #Values #Character #Faith #Leadership #Nigeria #Felakuti #Davido #Atiku

1 week ago | [YT] | 10

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#HomilyfromthePew

Jesus Knew All Men, Yet Gave Himself to None
…A reflection on trust, betrayal, and unshakable peace

“Before Judas, there was Brutus. Before Brutus, there was Lucifer.” That sequence has stayed with me because it exposes a sobering pattern: the deepest wounds often come from the closest circles.

Lucifer was described as privileged in proximity, yet he plotted rebellion. Brutus stood near Caesar and oversaw his demise. Judas walked with Jesus and still betrayed Him. Across history and across lives, one truth repeats itself: betrayal is rarely a stranger’s work. It is often an inside job.

A picture helps me hold this truth with clarity.

Water is the fish’s closest ally, its natural environment, its covering, its constant companion. Yet water can also become the fish’s deadliest instrument. The water does not need to change its identity to become dangerous; it only needs to change its temperature. Too hot, too cold, and the fish is no longer swimming, it is on a board.

That is how proximity works. The closer people are, the more they know. The more they know, the more precise the harm can be if loyalty breaks. Not because everyone close will betray, but because closeness increases capacity, capacity to help, and capacity to hurt.

This is where the scripture that shaped my thinking becomes relevant, and it deserves to be quoted accurately:

“But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man.”
(John 2:24–25, NKJV)

Some read that and assume it means: do not trust anyone, never open up, keep everyone at arm’s length. That is not what it means to me. If it meant that, Jesus would not have lived the way He lived, He gathered people, mentored them, sent them, prayed with them, ate with them, entrusted assignments to them, and loved them.

So what does it mean to “know all men” and “commit Himself to none”?

To me, it means this: relate fully, love genuinely, serve faithfully, yet refuse to hand the custody of your peace and destiny to human hands. It means people can be included without becoming the foundation. People can be trusted appropriately without becoming the final security. People can be loved deeply without being made the source of stability.

This mindset is not cynicism. It is spiritual clarity.

I learned something similar by observing how “kings” move.

Early in life, I spent time around a prominent figure and watched how power thinks, how leaders organize their lives, plan, strategize, choose allies, and build circles. One lesson stood out: a wise leader is not naïve about the possibility of rebellion. It is not paranoia; it is realism. Rebellion is not always expected, but it is always considered. The best leaders do not live in fear of betrayal; they simply do not build their entire stability on the assumption that betrayal is impossible.

That is the posture I find in John 2:24–25.

It does not cancel trust. It disciplines trust. It does not destroy relationships. It orders relationships.

Because in real life, betrayal comes in many forms.

A spouse can betray a spouse. A friend can betray a friend. A child can betray a parent. A brother can betray a brother. A sister can betray a sister. Even those bound by blood can break faith. There is a Yoruba proverb that captures this soberly:

“Ẹni ọ̀rẹ́ dà kò máa fi ṣe ìbínú; ẹni àbíni bí ń dà ni.”
Meaning: One who is betrayed by a friend should not despair, because even one’s own blood can betray.

If betrayal is possible across every human relationship, then a life anchored on human consistency alone will always be vulnerable. Not because humans are worthless, but because humans are human, limited, complex, influenced, tempted, pressured, sometimes fearful, sometimes selfish, sometimes confused.

This is where the second part of the lesson becomes personal: it is possible to be betrayed and yet refuse to live “betrayed.” Two things can happen after betrayal.

If betrayal destroys a person, those coming behind may study the story and learn. But if betrayal does not destroy a person, the person can pick up the lesson without losing the soul. That is my focus.

“Knowing all men” means expecting enough complexity in human nature that when disappointment comes, it does not collapse the inner world. It means understanding ahead of time that people may turn, sometimes without warning, sometimes for reasons that will never fully make sense. And when it happens, the goal is not to become cold, suspicious, and hardened. The goal is to become wiser, clearer, and more anchored.

This is why I find comfort in how Jesus structured His circles. He had the multitude. He had the twelve. He had the three. He had the one. He shared at different depths, with different responsibilities, without confusing access with ownership. Even then, He still faced betrayal. That alone teaches me that doing everything “right” does not eliminate the risk of being hurt. It only helps us respond rightly when it happens.

So I do not want betrayal to define my existence.

I do not want betrayal to make me cancel humanity.

I do not want betrayal to make me vow: “never again.”
Never trust again. Never love again. Never marry again. Never have friends again. Never open up again.

That response is understandable, but it can quietly turn pain into a lifelong prison.

For me, the point of “He knew all men and committed Himself to none” is that my peace, joy, stability, identity, and destiny are not handed over to people as if people are God. People matter. People help. People can be destiny partners. But people are not destiny owners.

So I will relate. I will love. I will build community. I will choose friends. I will commit to those I should commit to spouse, children, covenant relationships, trusted collaborators. But I will do so with a clear inner boundary:

✅I will not surrender my peace to their approval.
✅I will not surrender my stability to their loyalty.
✅I will not surrender my purpose to their changing moods.
✅I will not surrender my joy to their behavior.

If betrayal happens, I will review. I will learn. I will refine my discernment. I will adjust access where needed. I will not pretend nothing happened. But I will also refuse bitterness as a lifestyle.

That is the “immortality” of this scripture to me: the ability to live fully among people while remaining internally governed by God.

To know all men is to understand that human nature is complex.

To give oneself to none is to understand that divine anchoring is non-negotiable.

So the prayer that rises from this reflection is simple:

Lord, help us to know people truly, love people wisely, and trust You finally, so that when betrayal comes, it teaches us, but it does not own us.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

#MinistryofClarity

1 week ago | [YT] | 12

Taiwo AKINLAMI

ALONE

I love my family, my wife and my son. I love spending time with them, and when they are not around, I truly miss them. Yet one of the clearest spaces in my life, outside of being with them, is the space of being alone. Not lonely in the casual sense, but alone in the deeper sense: alone with thoughts, alone with memories, alone with a private inner world the outside world cannot always reach. Over time, solitude became both comfort and conditioning.

This story began early. As the first children(my twin brother and I), we grew up learning many things without the kind of protection, instruction, and emotional covering that helps a child feel safe.

Our parents were not wicked people; they did not know better. Still, gaps that are not filled in childhood tend to become burdens carried into adulthood.

Between ages six and eight, I was sexually molested regularly. That sentence is heavy, and it deserves to be treated with seriousness. What made it worse was not only what happened, but what followed: silence. There was nobody to tell, nobody to carry it with me, nobody to reassure me that it was not my fault. So I carried it alone, and the impact did not remain in childhood. It shaped how I saw myself and how I approached the world.

Home did not consistently provide refuge either. There were moments of abuse that left me feeling terrorized rather than protected moments where I felt helpless, restrained, and exposed. I remember being tied, beaten, and left for long periods. The strongest impression in those moments was not only the pain, but the absence of rescue. Nobody came. Nobody intervened. Nobody sat with me afterward to help me make sense of what had happened. So I woke up many mornings not wanting to go to school, not wanting to face people, not wanting to face another day, and I still went. I kept moving, not because support was present, but because life demanded movement and there was nobody to talk to.

School added another layer. In primary three, when I was about ten years old, my class teacher nicknamed me “devil.” Children avoided me. They would not play with me. I was labelled a “noise maker,” and that label pushed me into a corner. Even when I broke out of it, trying again and again to speak, to connect, to be present, the mark remained. The label later shifted from “noise maker” to “disturber,” but the message stayed the same: you are a problem, and you do not belong. A child who is repeatedly judged learns to hide. A child who is repeatedly rejected learns to withdraw. Those lessons can become lifelong habits.

The emotional injuries continued in school in other ways. My name was placed in the black book at Saint Joseph’s College, Ondo, an official record that reinforced the feeling of being defined by authority. And again, there was no safe path to say at home, “This is what is happening.” There was no adult advocacy I could depend on. So I learned to endure. Alone.

I carried that “alone” into my early adult years. At Lagos State University, I struggled to express the best of my thoughts at first. Eventually, I became involved in student unionism and leadership. Outwardly, I could be outspoken. Outwardly, I could stand in front of people. But inside, unresolved battles from childhood were still running. Leadership did not erase them. Achievement did not erase them. Even among people, the reflex of aloneness remained.

Before faith, there was also an internal voice that fought against me: “You cannot make it. You are a fool. Who told you you can do it?” I remember walking on the street, stopping, calling my own name, and pushing myself forward as though I had to become my own parent, my own coach, my own defender. Self-doubt and second-guessing did not appear from nowhere. They were planted by experience, watered by silence, and strengthened by repetition. Even now, I still talk to myself often. It is part of how survival was learned.

Later, I became a person of faith. I began to study the Scriptures, and I began to see and understand things differently. I began to fellowship with other believers. Faith gave me language, direction, and hope, but another truth also became clear: damage done over years is not undone in a day. Patterns formed in childhood do not vanish instantly. To this day, some of my deepest conversations happen in solitude. Some of my best reflections happen alone. And some of my hardest battles still try to happen alone.

In 2009, both my parents died in the same year. I was thirty-nine. My father died, and I realized something that is still difficult to say plainly: not once did he sit me down to talk to me about life, about manhood, responsibility, father to son. Not once. My mother died at sixty-seven that same year, and she also never sat me down to discuss life with me. This is not said to demonize them. They were not wicked people. But they did not know better, and what was not given became another gap I had to fill by myself.

Today, I am in a good place. This is not written from perplexity, and it is not a lamentation. It is a story with lessons because aloneness rarely comes from one cause. Many people stay alone because they fear judgment after being judged early. Many fear rejection after being rejected early. Some struggle with closeness because closeness once felt unsafe. Some delay asking for help because help never came when it was needed. When those patterns settle deep, maximizing relationships in adulthood becomes possible, but tough, especially when boundaries must be held and trust must be rebuilt slowly.

This is where the message becomes communal. We are beings of community. We are beings of relationships and relationship is cultivated from childhood. When children are ostracized, labelled, ignored, or left to process pain alone, they can grow into adults who feel lonely even in a crowd. If we want children to learn how to relate, we relate with them. We model safety. We make room for questions. We correct without crushing. We discipline without dehumanizing. We listen early, so silence does not become a life sentence.

This is why I cannot trade the relationship I enjoy with my son. I relate with him deliberately. We play, we run, we jump, we fall, we rise. Not only to fulfill his right to play, but to build relationship, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I also want him to build a relationship with God his Maker, so we talk about God, we attend services, and we keep that conversation open and real.

Solitude is still comforting for me, and I sing to myself often. I carry a music catalogue in my brain, an ever-present companion. I do not enjoy parties or social gatherings, except when I am there on an assignment. At 55, it may sound strange, but I can probably count the number of parties I have attended in my life.

I have been to many countries, but when I travel away from home, I focus strictly on my assignment, moving from the venue to my room and back again. I do not usually join others for sightseeing. I remain very protective of my “alone.”

If my calling did not demand a public-facing role, I would likely have chosen a more secluded life, and I believe I would have enjoyed it. But I am learning that solitude should be a place of rest, not a prison. I am learning to embrace safe community without abandoning my boundaries. I am learning that strength is not only in enduring; sometimes strength is in speaking.

And sometimes healing begins when “alone” finally meets love that is consistent, community without judgment, and fellow travellers who have been comforted and, with the comfort they have received, comfort others.

But I will not lie about what made me. I know what it means to be alone. I have lived it, alone, alone, alone.

Do have an INSPIRED weekend with the family.

1 week ago | [YT] | 19

Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 166
Safety Isn’t Enough: How to Raise Children for the Enormous Opportunities of the Digital Economy

Keeping children safe online is necessary, but it is no longer sufficient.
The digital economy is not just a space children will visit; it is a world they will live, work, compete, and create in.

Beyond screen limits and content filters lies a deeper responsibility: preparing children with discernment, adaptability, ethical grounding, and the capacity to seize opportunity without losing themselves.

In this episode, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami challenges the narrow idea of “digital safety” and reframes the conversation around digital readiness. He explores how primary and secondary parents, and leaders must move from fear-driven protection to intentional preparation, raising children who are not only protected from harm, but equipped for relevance, contribution, and leadership in a rapidly evolving digital economy.

This conversation calls adults to think beyond control and toward formation, shaping children who can navigate power, technology, and opportunity with wisdom and dignity.

🔊 What to expect:
• Why safety alone cannot prepare children for the digital economy
• The skills, values, and mindsets children need beyond device control
• Moving from fear-based parenting to future-focused preparation
• How primary and secondary parents must rethink guidance, exposure, and responsibility in a digital age

📅 Friday, 24th January, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST

🔔 Subscribe & set your reminder:
bit.ly/TaiwoAkinlamiYouTubeChannel

#TAINMINUTES #DigitalParenting #DigitalEconomy #RaisingFutureReadyChildren #ChildSafeguarding #ParentingInTheDigitalAge #Education #Leadership #FutureSkills

1 week ago | [YT] | 9

Taiwo AKINLAMI

When People Call Your Son Your Grandson: 50Plus Fatherhood Lessons on Timing, Perception, and Reality

I have lost count of how many times people have looked at my son and asked, with genuine certainty, “Is that your grandson?”

It happened again recently. We were out as a family when someone pointed at him and said, “Your child’s child.” We replied calmly: “No. He is our son, our first son.” Fifteen years into our marriage, that sentence has become a familiar correction.

Another day, I visited a school to see the principal. My son was with me. The principal smiled and said, “Oh, you came with your grandson.” I responded, as I always do: “No. He is my son, my first son.”

After the second or third time, I stopped reacting emotionally and started thinking philosophically: why do people reach that conclusion so quickly?

The answer is not mysterious. It is appearance and probability. I turn 56 this year, and my wife is of advanced maternal age. During her pregnancy, it was described in clinical terms as a geriatric pregnancy, with the attendant warnings about possible complications, warnings we rejected in faith, and God faithfully saw us through. By common biological and social expectations, we are old enough to be grandparents. Their assessment is not necessarily insulting; by ordinary arithmetic, it is understandable.

But here is the deeper lesson:

Human assessment can be reasonable and still not be your reality.

People interpret the world using patterns, what is typical, what is frequent, what is statistically likely. That is how the mind creates order. They see, they calculate, they conclude. And yes, they are entitled to their conclusions.

But entitlement does not make a conclusion sovereign.

Because there are two things that must never be confused:

People’s perception of us
The reality of who we are
If we cannot separate those two, we will spend our life negotiating our identity with spectators.

I cannot turn my son into my grandson to satisfy an assumption. I cannot begin to introduce myself as a grandparent because society has decided what my age “should” mean. I am not raising a grandchild. I am raising my child.

And this is where my reflection deepens into the spiritual and philosophical.

Timing, Delay, Denial, and the Discipline of Meaning

This journey of raising my first child in my twilight years has forced me to confront the language we use around God and time, especially the popular phrases we repeat without examining.

People often say, “Delay is not denial.” I understand what they mean. But I no longer treat that statement as a blanket truth that covers every situation.

Here is the clearer frame I have learned:
God does not operate by human impatience. God operates by appointed time.

When I do not receive what I desire when I desire it, that is not automatically a “delay” in the way the human ego defines delay. It may simply be that my timetable was never the timetable.

And when I do not receive what I desire at the moment I demand it, that is not automatically “denial” either. It may be design. It may be ordering. It may be mercy. It may be preparation. It may be purpose.

So I hold this conviction firmly now:
The categories “delay” and “denial” are often human labels for a divine schedule we do not understand.

Not everything late is delayed.
Not everything withheld is denied.
Not everything slow is wrong.

Sometimes, what we call “late” is simply not yet, because “yet” is not governed by our anxiety but by God’s sequence.

That is why Scripture confronts cultural impatience so directly.

Elizabeth and Zechariah were married, yet the child came in old age, not because heaven forgot them, but because John’s arrival was tied to an assignment, and that assignment was tied to a larger story.

Hannah waited, and Samuel arrived at an appointed time, because his life was not merely a domestic answer; it was a national instrument.

Their lives preach a doctrine modern culture hates:
Marriage does not command timing. Desire does not command destiny.

The Limits of Comparison: Why We Never Have Enough Data

This season has also taught me something that is both humbling and liberating:

We will never have enough data to judge our lives accurately by comparison.

We compare:

our lives to other people’s lives,
our present to our past,
our present to our future,
our expectations to our outcomes,
and we assume the comparison is fair.
But it is not.

Because comparison always suffers from missing information. We do not know the full context behind another person’s timeline. We do not know the invisible delays they were spared. We do not know the unseen costs of their visible achievements. We do not know what God prevented. We do not know what God postponed. We do not know what God permitted.

And even about ourselves, we do not have full data:
We do not fully know what our past was protecting us from,

We do not fully know what our present is preparing us for,

We do not fully know what our future is demanding of us.

So the mature posture is not arrogance. It is submission, submission to the truth that there are governing variables beyond our measurement.

This is why faith matters to me, not as decoration, but as orientation.

I once read a leadership insight that stayed with me. Someone was asked what his leadership philosophy was. He said, in effect: “Mine is not like the eagle. It is like the bat. I fly with limited sight, but I follow the One who knows the way.”

That is not weakness. That is wisdom.
Because God did not consult me before creating me. God did not consult me before ordering the world. It would be foolhardy to assume I can navigate life purely by my own calculations.

Parenting as the Highest School of Becoming
And this brings me back to fatherhood.

Parenting, especially at 50+, is not merely raising a child. Parenting is being remade while raising a child. It is the daily confrontation of ego. It is the retraining of patience. It is the discipline of presence.

The greatest shock is not the child. The greatest shock is the mirror the child becomes.

This is why I do not treat life and parenting as separate subjects. I have learned what I now state as a principle:

The way we do one thing is the way we do everything.
If we handle misperception poorly, we will handle leadership poorly.
If we handle waiting poorly, we will handle marriage poorly.
If we handle uncertainty poorly, we will handle parenting poorly.

Life itself is preparation. Life itself is training. Life itself is the apprenticeship of becoming, so that when a role arrives (father, husband, leader, builder), we have the internal structure to stand.

So yes, people may say “grandson.”
But I have stopped wrestling with perception. I simply return to reality:

This is my son.
This is my season.
This is my assignment.
And I am learning that to live well, we must carry two truths at once:

people will assess us, often correctly by their data,

but our lives is not governed by their data.

It is governed by purpose, timing, and the wisdom of God.

Question: When people’s assessment of you conflicts with your reality, do you become defensive, or do you become clear?

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the families.

2 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 19

Taiwo AKINLAMI

What Parents Cannot Do, Does Not Exist: Heart-Wrenching Stories from the Trenches and the Urgent Lessons They Demand

For almost three decades, I have worked within the school system with parents of diverse backgrounds and persuasions, beginning with my first visit to Aladura Comprehensive High School, Anthony Village, Lagos, in 1997.

Over the years, I have handled cases and heard accounts, both firsthand and through parents, schools, child-focused organizations, and government agencies that range from the merely unreasonable to the outright impossible. With time, I have come to see that even the strangest incidents can teach sober lessons about the delicate triangle of responsibility among schools, parents, and the children we are all meant to safeguard and protect.

These stories are not peculiar to Africa or the so-called Third World. However, it is important to acknowledge a hard reality: in Nigeria and in many African countries, the average primary parent is often left to raise children with little meaningful support.

By global standards, four institutions share responsibility for raising children: parents (who primarily inculcate values), community (which reinforces values and builds supportive institutions), the state (which provides an enabling social, political, and economic environment, including social protection), and the international community (which upholds global standards through international legal instruments and established protocols).

In Nigeria, the community system has weakened, the state is largely comatose in its duty of care, the international community is inconsistent, and parents are frequently left alone, pressured, raising their children as citizens of their families, yet effectively stateless. It is against this backdrop that I share my field experiences below: not to excuse error, but to provide necessary context for understanding how these failures happen, and what must change.

Consider the mother who sent her child to school with eba, but without soup. When the school called to ask about the missing component of the meal, her response was matter-of-fact: she had noticed there was no soup after packing the food and planned to send a note asking the school to locate the nearest eatery, buy “just a little okro or vegetable,” and add it so her child could eat. Absurd? Yes. Real? Also yes.

Or the parent who instructed the school to drop her 12-year-old daughter at the estate gate because “the security guards know her.” “Just drop her there; she’ll be fine. I’ll pick her up later,” she said, apparently unbothered by the obvious risk of leaving a girl child with male security men, strangers, unsupervised at a gate.

Then there was the parent who arrived late to pick up her child. The school’s policy was clear: late pickup attracts a fee. Instead of accepting responsibility, she tore up the invoice in front of staff, and in front of her own child, and threw the pieces into the trash, as though rules were optional when applied to her.

Sometimes the problem is not unreasonable demands but outright deception. In one case, a child admitted that a teacher had been coming to the house for private lessons, strictly against the school’s policy. When confronted, the parent looked both the teacher and her own child in the eye and denied everything. The child stood there, confused and embarrassed, watching a blatant lie unfold in real time, left to reconcile truth with the authority of a parent who refused to own it.

Some scenarios move beyond absurd into deeply troubling territory. In a highbrow boarding school, a matron was found to have ordered young students to clean human waste and even taste it. When a brave child reported the incident, her mother’s response was chillingly indifferent: “The matron has been warned. It won’t happen again.” No outrage. No demand for accountability. Just resignation. When asked if she would withdraw her child from such an environment, she said, “We’re too busy to change schools. He’ll be fine.”

Another case still haunts me. During an international exam administered through the British Council, a child wrote a desperate plea in the margins of her test paper: “I’m being sexually abused. Please help me.” That cry for rescue led to her being traced and, thankfully, the situation was addressed. But how many children suffer in silence before they find a way, any way to be heard?

And then there was the parent who insisted that a school admit her child despite a serious medical condition, when it was obvious the school had no capacity to care for the child, even signing an indemnity letter to absolve the school if anything happened. But no indemnity can erase a school’s duty of care. Yet some parents behave as though a signature can suspend responsibility—and even suspend the law.

Two more incidents illustrate the same disturbing truth: many adults underestimate risk until it becomes tragedy.

A mother went to an ATM, leaving her four-year-old in the car because she believed it would be “a brief transaction.” She returned, got into the car, and drove off, miles without checking the back seat. Only after getting home did she discover her daughter was missing. When she raced back, she found the child with a male security guard. What happened? While the mother was at the ATM, the child crawled out of the car to ease herself, and a security man had helped her across the road to use a restroom. The mother had driven away without noticing. This happened.

In another case, two parents had met only once or twice at a PTA meeting. One was a caterer; the other had ordered cookies. When the buyer arrived at the agreed pickup point, the caterer, suddenly late for an engagement, dumped her two young children (about five and seven) on this near-stranger and pleaded: “Please, I’m extremely late. Take them to their grandmother’s address inside the estate. I’ll call her now.” A parent handed over her children, her treasure to someone she barely knew.

Perhaps the most heart-wrenching example came from a mother whose five-year-old daughter reported sexual abuse by a nine-year-old neighbor. When asked if she would stop sending her child to that neighbor’s home, her answer was staggering: “Where else will she go? She still goes there.” The casual acceptance of danger in a child’s life is not just shocking, it is devastating.

These stories are stranger than fiction, but they are also mirrors: experiences we have touched, witnessed, and handled firsthand.

They reveal how much work remains in our understanding of parenting, child safeguarding, and protection. If children are truly a priority, we will know it by three measures: time, energy, and sacrifice.

Through all these experiences, one truth stands out: what parents cannot do, does not exist. Whether driven by desperation, confusion, entitlement, fear, or misplaced priorities, some parents will ask, and do things that test the very limits of reason and responsibility.

For primary parents, let us strive to do better by seeking and investing in:
• Knowledge (what to do),
• Skill (how to do it), and
• Fortitude (the inner strength to follow through).

For *secondary parents, educators and school leaders, the mandate is clear: respond with wisdom, enforce boundaries without apology, and keep the best interests of the child at the center of every decision, no matter how “impossible” the request may seem.

These things are written for examples.

As a parent, what is the most bizarre thing you have seen? As a professional, what is the most jaw-dropping case you have handled?

Let’s discuss, learn, and defend the best interests of our precious children.

And if you want to take this conversation further, join The TeacherFire® Revolution PTA Forum via the link below

👇👇👇

TeacherFIRE®️ Revolution PTF WhatsApp Group: 🔗 chat.whatsapp.com/LQYo49lXYKS1H7ici0D4WY

TeacherFIRE®️ Revolution PTF Telegram Group:🔗 t.me/+altkK7N9aetmMzVk

Every revolution starts with a conversation, and every conversation starts with a person, any one of us, who is ready to take responsibility.

Do have an INSPIRED weekend with the family.

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 15

Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 165
“Our Children Are Proof of Our Example”: How We Must Rethink Discipline, Parenting, and Responsibility

Children do not learn values from instruction alone. They absorb what they see, repeat what they experience, and reflect the standards we live by. Discipline, parenting, and responsibility begin with example long before they become rules.

In this second part of the conversation from last week, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami deepens the discussion by examining how adult behavior, not just correction, shapes the character of children. He challenges common ideas about discipline and calls for a more honest look at accountability, consistency, and the everyday actions children quietly mirror.

This episode pushes parents, caregivers, leaders, and society at large to rethink what it truly means to raise children who are grounded, responsible, and secure.

🔊 What to expect:
• Why children reflect what adults practice, not what they preach
• Rethinking discipline beyond punishment and control
• The role of responsibility and consistency in parenting
• Practical insights for raising children through example

📅 Friday, 16th January, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST
🔔 Subscribe & set your reminder:
bit.ly/TaiwoAkinlamiYouTubeChannel
(Taiwo Akinlami YouTube Channel)

#TAINMINUTES #Parenting #Discipline #ChildSafeguarding #RaisingChildren #Responsibility #LeadershipAtHome

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 10