The Common Enemy

 The Common Enemy

I didn’t realise I was the enemy until my son was about six.

At first, I thought I was doing alright as a parent. I had the whole routine running like clockwork—mealtimes, no snacks before dinner, bedtime by nine. I was the CEO of Structure and the Minister of Discipline.

And then my father-in-law moved in with us.

Now, let me say this: I respect the man. He’s wise, experienced, a man of few words. But somehow, he managed to completely unravel my parenting without saying a single sentence to me.

It started small. I told my son, “No ice cream, you’re coughing.”

That evening, I saw the two of them sitting side by side in the kitchen, happily sharing a tub of Walls. My father-in-law even gave him the last bite. I walked in, raised my eyebrows, and he just gave me a blank look like, “Ice cream? What ice cream?”

The next day, I told my son to finish his homework before TV. Ten minutes later, I found him watching cartoons while my father-in-law was asleep on the couch beside him—remote control still in his hand.

And that’s when I realised.

They had formed an alliance.

It wasn’t official—no handshakes, no terms and conditions—but it was strong, silent, and effective. Whenever I put down a rule, my son would run to Grandpa. Grandpa would give a little nod, a biscuit, maybe a story from the 1960s, and suddenly I was the unreasonable one.

I had become the common enemy.

It was like they were both united in a secret resistance. Not violent—just gently subversive. Like how England does sarcasm. Or how church aunties ask, “Why you look so tired?” when they actually mean “You look terrible.”

At first, I was annoyed. I thought, “Eh, I’m trying to raise a decent human being here. A responsible, polite, sugar-regulated child.” But slowly, something shifted.

One night, I walked past the room and saw them reading together. My son was curled up next to his grandfather, giggling at some old joke about rubber trees and kampung chickens. My father-in-law was doing the voices, laughing like a child himself. And I realised—this wasn’t rebellion.

It was relationship.

They weren’t teaming up against me. They were teaming up with each other—for something bigger than homework or bedtime. They were building trust. Memories. Love.

And yes, I was the odd one out—but maybe that was okay.

Because maybe that’s the role of a parent sometimes. To set the limits. To say “no” when it’s needed. And maybe—just maybe—grandparents are there to break the rules once in a while, just to show our kids that love can be soft, unexpected, and sweet. Sometimes literally, in the form of a forbidden ice cream cone.

So yes, for a while I was the enemy. But I also got to witness something beautiful—a bond that skipped a generation and went straight to the heart.

And one day, if I’m lucky, I’ll be the grandfather handing out biscuits behind someone else’s back.

God has a funny way of teaching us grace. Sometimes through sermons. Sometimes through Scripture.

And sometimes... through two conspirators on the couch, eating ice cream in silence.

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71Ivyida Seow, Clement Chin and 69 others