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Unleash Their Childhood This Summer!

12 December, 2025

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THE HANOI TIMES — One summer, I dedicated every day to solving math problems. By the time school resumed, I was so advanced that my teacher asked me to tutor a classmate. Standing at the front of the class, explaining complex equations, filled me with pride. It felt like I had accomplished something extraordinary during my break.

Yet, the most memorable summers of my life weren’t about academic achievements. They were the summers my parents surprised us with the words, “We’re going on an adventure.” One year, we embarked on a road trip along the coast of Central Vietnam, swimming at pristine beaches and indulging in grilled seafood until we couldn’t move. Another summer, we explored southern Europe, wandering through hot streets, cool museums, and endless walking. Every moment felt like an adventure.

There were no grades, no worksheets—just gelato, volleyball, sunburns, and a kind of learning that didn’t come with a certificate. Those were the summers I truly grew, not because I honed my skills, but because I had the freedom to simply be.

Today, observing my friends’ children, I notice a troubling trend. They no longer resist summer school. There are no questions like, “Why do I have to go?” No protests. Just silent compliance. It’s as if they’ve internalized that rest is a luxury, or worse, something to feel guilty about.

Take Tran My Linh, for example. She’s a 35-year-old office worker in Hanoi who enrolled her nine-year-old son in a “life skills” summer camp promising creativity and leadership. “They showed me photos of group activities and project-based learning,” she said. “But when I picked him up, he looked exhausted. They had him doing worksheets all morning and English drills in the afternoon. It felt like school, just rebranded.”

Hung Tran, a marketing executive in Ho Chi Minh City, thought he was giving his daughter a head start by signing her up for a “junior entrepreneur” course. The program included financial planning, product design, and a final pitch competition. However, his ten-year-old daughter broke down before the presentation. “She doesn’t want to grow up yet,” he admitted. “That’s when I realized I had signed her up for my dream, not hers.”

I’m not against summer learning. What concerns me is the confusion between productivity and growth. Summer has become an unofficial third semester, driven less by curiosity and more by anxiety—the fear that our children will fall behind.

Some parents see their children’s early polish—speaking in bullet points, presenting PowerPoints—and call it maturity. But what they perceive as confidence may actually be hidden exhaustion. Most children don’t know how to say, “I’m tired.” They just try to meet expectations.

Meanwhile, the “international summer study tour” market is booming. Programs in the United States, Singapore, and Japan promise academic rigor and cultural immersion, often costing between $4,000 and $10,000. Minh Anh, a twelve-year-old from Danang, returned from a two-week trip to the US meant to introduce her to Ivy League campuses. “The best part was the baseball game,” she said. “We also went to Target.” When asked about the “academic workshops,” she shrugged: “It was mostly pre-recorded videos.”

The contrast isn’t the issue. The problem arises when rest is equated with failure, and a packed schedule becomes a parent’s badge of honor. A different kind of inequality emerges—not about income, but about expectations. It’s the idea that a summer without measurable outcomes is wasted.

Even more alarming is how many families have been misled or scammed. In Hanoi, Nguyen Minh Thu lost nearly $10,000 after enrolling her sons in a “military-style character-building” camp she found on Facebook. She later discovered the organizers didn’t exist. “I didn’t check carefully,” she said. “I just wanted him to have something impressive for his application next year.”

Dr. Hanh Nguyen, an education sociologist in Ho Chi Minh City, calls this the “fear economy of parenting.” She explains, “When parents feel uncertain, they seek packaged solutions.” A summer course with a certificate feels safer than letting a child spend three days at home feeling bored. But growth doesn’t come from filling time—it comes from meaningful time.

Not every family has the same options. Some children travel abroad, while others stay home. Some attend coding boot camps or cultural exchanges, while others visit relatives or spend time in small apartments with little to do. That’s not inherently unfair. But it becomes a problem when the child who stays home feels left behind.

After a dinner party, I overheard a father say to his son, “You had a whole summer and nothing to show for it.” The boy remained silent. Maybe he read three books, learned to care for his baby sister, or simply needed time.

Rest is not wasted time. Yet, we teach children that unless an activity can be displayed, quantified, or posted online, it doesn’t count.

Every family has its priorities. As summer begins, perhaps the most radical question we can ask is not “What did you learn?” but “How did you feel?”

If I ever have a niece or nephew, I wouldn’t want them to spend the entire break in front of a screen. But I also wouldn’t want them trapped in a schedule they didn’t choose. I’d want them to experience the joy of slowing down—to play, to get bored, to feel what a real summer is like.

Not every child knows how to express overwhelm. Not every parent remembers to ask if their child is enjoying themselves.

That’s the problem.

We don’t need to cancel all plans or reject opportunities. But we should ask ourselves one honest question: Is this what my child needs, or am I afraid they’ll miss out?

Summer isn’t just a blank space between school years. It’s a season for discovery, not measurement. Let them rest. Let them explore. Let them be kids again.