I WASN'T EXACTLY Saul on the way to Damascus, but a light from heaven seemed to shine. It was when I first read these words in an otherwise long-forgotten religious article: "Our job is not to interfere." A simple reminder to keep oneself open to the constant care of God. A liberation and a challenge for me as a teenager learning about reliance on God defined as Principle and Love.

Recently I saw the same phrase used in regard to reading with a child. The point was made that it's important not to push and pull and interfere with the child's awakening response to the printed page.

It's attitude. When I think about parenting, I think about how I was parented—and about attitudes I hardly appreciated at the time.

I think of Dad taking us to the county fair, explaining, "We have to have a little fun."

I think of Mom seeing me off from our small hometown of Alexandria, Minnesota, saying simply, "You know"—meaning all the words of love and care and prayer that didn't need to be said. How had we reached a point where I felt so trusted to do the right thing?

Of the making of advice books there is no end, but every parent or caregiver owns the added resource of having gone through the process of being brought up.

When I came back from the Marine Corps after World War II, I hit a peak of impatience with my parents, who just seemed so slow in everything they did. I had to learn some forbearance, gradually understanding how much forbearance they must have shown me before childhood's end. Somehow I had no memories of guilt (except for the time I kicked at Ralph over a toy and my parents let me know his family was having a hard time).

They must have protected me with no-no's and tried to civilize me with please and thank you. But instead when I go back to the time when I was four, they are not nagging me. I'm looking up at their friends and being asked to repeat a riddle that tickled them. Their "Be so careful" followed me for years, but with a baby-talk echo that said they knew I didn't need to be told. It wasn't that I "mustn't" or I "had to" do such-and-such. It was having reasons for what was right or wrong.

Everyone knew the Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," and over the years I began to see my parents were practicing it more than preaching it.

Would I take some ginger snaps over to Miss N., a member of our church, which held its services over the drugstore?—and "stay and talk a little." Miss N. lived alone in a spooky room and was not a boy's idea of easy conversation.

Was I going to a regional competition, trying out for a class play, being interviewed for a summer job? "God's child meets God's child" is what I heard at home. I still hear it when I'm facing something new.

Some school projects were tricky. I'd smear the paint, use too much glue, be tempted to stop bothering. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, blah, blah, blah. Mom added, "They won't know how long it took you. They'll just see what you did." It sticks with me. So does the way customers came into the clothing store to have Dad fit their hats because he did it right.

When I showed an interest in something, something was done about it: They provided me with a simple camera, a chemistry set, an electric motor kit, a tennis racket. Later when I volunteered at a storefront youth center, the social worker said, "Don't tell them what to do, but if anyone shows the slightest interest in anything, help them do it."

My parents seemed to know that already. Love and expectation. They made me want to do a thing right as well as to do the right thing.

It was as if they remembered, "Our job is not to interfere." It was an attitude that let a person grow naturally instead of in a greenhouse. It was almost like not being parented at all.