What AI Can’t Teach My Daughter

By Deshna Bhansali

My daughter, Avira, belongs to Generation Alpha. By the time she is old enough to work, the world will look completely different from the one I grew up in. Some jobs will disappear. New ones will exist that we cannot even imagine today. She will probably grow up with AI the way I grew up with Google: always there; always ready; always answering. And that makes me wonder: what will she still need from me?

I sometimes get a glimpse of the answer in the most ordinary moments. “Mom, why does…?” She pauses. “Actually, we can ask GPT.” She says it so naturally that I smile. But sometimes I find myself saying, “Let’s think about it first.” Not because I don’t want her to know, but because I want to know what she thinks. I want to hear her five-year-old explanation before a machine gives her the perfect one.

And her explanations are often much more interesting. A few weeks ago, she was trying to do something on her own and became frustrated, “Mom, I can’t do it.” I was already getting up to help, but then I stopped. “Try again.” “I tried,” she replied. “Try once more.” She wasn’t happy with me. But she tried and eventually, she got it. She looked at me with that little smile children have when they surprise themselves.

That moment had nothing to do with getting the right answer. It was about discovering, “I can do difficult things.” And I think that is something I want to protect for her, because technology will make so many things easier for her generation. If she doesn’t know something, she can ask. If she can’t write something, she can get help. If she wants to learn something new, information is waiting. 

But life is full of things that cannot simply be solved: a friend who doesn’t want to play with you; a mistake you wish you hadn’t made; someone who is having a bad day; a time when you have to wait for something you really want. There isn’t always an answer. Sometimes there is just a feeling and you have to learn what to do with it.

I think about this when I see children together: one child has something another child wants; or someone gets picked first, or someone doesn’t get picked at all. There are tears, jealousy, an apology, and eventually a hug. None of these moments look important while they are happening.

But perhaps this is where children learn the things that will stay with them much longer than anything they memorize: how to share, wait, lose, say sorry, or notice that someone else is hurting. These are the things I cannot outsource.

When I think about the future I want for Avira, I still want her to have a good education. I want her to discover work she loves, travel, make friends, be independent, and have the confidence to build a life of her own.

But I also want something much simpler: I want her to remember to say thank you to the people who help her; to notice when someone is sitting alone; to be comfortable saying “I don’t know;” to try again when something doesn’t work; to be kind even when nobody is watching. Because being intelligent will help her navigate the future. But knowing how to treat people will shape the person she becomes.

And maybe that is what parenting in the age of AI really means. Not keeping our children away from technology. Not pretending that the world is going back to the way it was. But making sure that, alongside all the things technology can teach them, they still experience the things only life can teach. Waiting for something; getting something wrong; figuring something out; being disappointed; helping someone; saying sorry; being there for a friend without knowing exactly what to say.

One day, Avira will know how to use AI far better than me. She may ask it questions I would never think to ask. She may create things I cannot imagine. And I hope she does. But I also hope that, when something really matters, she doesn’t always look for the fastest answer. I hope she sometimes looks around, thinks, asks another person, and perhaps, sometimes, still comes to me.

Not because I know the answer. But because some of the most important things in life were never about finding the answer quickly. They were about learning how to live with the question. And learning how to be a good human while you do.

About the Author

Deshna Bhansali is a finance professional and mother to five-year-old Avira. Originally from India, she finds herself navigating the wonderfully messy space between spreadsheets, school runs, multicultural friendships, and raising a child away from home. She writes about the little moments of motherhood that stay with us long after the moment has passed.