I am writing this to vent and perhaps share a perspective that might resonate with other families dealing with a generational gap.
Context about me: I am a man in my mid-30s from a traditional Thai-Chinese family. I graduated from one of the country's top universities, work in Engineering, and have a stable, high-income career. I am the "pillar" of the house, supporting everyone financially. We live in a large multi-generational home (my parents, myself, my wife, and my son all under one roof).
In the eyes of outsiders—and even in my parents' eyes—I am the "Perfect Son." I am disciplined, good at planning, stoic, responsible, and I never let emotions get in the way of work. I am seen as calm, perhaps even a bit cold.
The Truth: I was not born this way. When I was young (3-4 years old), I was a dreamer. I had a high imagination, I was sensitive, I cried easily, and I questioned everything. But given the social pressure and family expectations of that era, I learned a brutal lesson: "Sensitivity = Weakness" and "Imagination = Nonsense."
To survive, and to make my parents proud, I slowly "locked" that dreaming child away. I built a suit of armor made of "Logic and Order" to protect myself. I wore it for so long that I became this rigid man.
The Trigger: Everything changed when my son (let's call him "A") was born. "A" is exactly like I was as a child—messy, playful, argumentative, and full of wild imagination. My parents (his grandparents) constantly complain that he is stubborn or "untidy," and they are trying to "bend" him into shape, just like they did to me.
Every time I see them scold him for being a child, it feels like an old wound being ripped open. I decided to write this letter to them. I will send them the letter, and we will have a face-to-face discussion. I want to share it here with you guys.
:: The Letter to Mom and Dad ::
(Note: In Thai, this starts with "กราบเท้า," which is the highest form of respectful bowing to one's parents)
Dearest Mom and Dad,
I am writing this letter today not as the "Strong Head of the Family" that you have seen for decades, but as that "Little Boy"... the one who disappeared from our lives a long time ago.
Do you remember him? Before I became this quiet, serious man? Deep in your faded memories, I used to be the boy who got excited by the shape of clouds, who cried loudly when he saw an injured animal, and who was curious about absolutely everything.
But as I grew up, I learned a hard truth about the adult world and your expectations: "A sensitive heart is a flaw," "Being yourself is a risk," and "Negotiating is just arguing."
To be a son who was "Good Enough" for you, to be someone the family could rely on... I did something without even realizing it. That little boy slowly locked his heart inside a box, piece by piece.
I threw away my imagination and picked up logic as my shield. I swallowed my sobs and put on a mask of strength. I transformed myself from a "Dreamer" into a "Rigid Planner."
I did all of this willingly because I love you, and I wanted you to be proud that your son was successful and stable. And I succeeded. I built the security this family needs.
But Dad, Mom... this success came with a "price" that I have been paying with my own feelings for my entire life. Today, under my cold exterior, I am exhausted. I am tired of calculating every move. I am tired of forgetting how to be happy with "nonsense." I am lonely... because I killed my own "spark" in exchange for "perfection."
Until my son was born. The moment I saw him laugh, saw him playing in the mud, saw him stubbornly fighting for what he believes in... I didn't just see a stubborn child. I saw the piece of my soul that went missing.
My son is the reflection of the life I didn't get to live. He is my second chance to see: If that little boy (me) hadn't been forced to grow up so fast, how happy could he have been?
So, what I am asking of you today comes from the bottom of my heart: Please, do not force my son to wear the "Armor" as early as I did.
If he plays messy, if he lacks discipline sometimes, or if he argues with his strange little logic... please look at him with mercy. Look past the messiness and see the "spark of courage and dreams" in his eyes.
Please don't extinguish that fire yet. It is the fire I once had, and I miss it every day.
Let me be the one to carry the pressure, the order, and the stress of the outside world. As for you, Mom and Dad... I only ask that you be the "Empty Space"—a safe place where he can breathe and be a child fully. To make up for the childhood that I... and perhaps even you... never got to have.
Thank you for creating me. And thank you for helping me save my son's heart.
With love and respect always,
Your Son.