Fresh fruit only goes so far in an apology. In many Asian households, love and repair weren’t always spoken—they were implied, indirect, and often left for us to interpret.And while those gestures carried care, they often left something unfinished: the need to hear our pain acknowledged out loud. This isn’t what I advise for the next generation of Asian parents.

For example, on a recent ski trip, our 10-year-old son was visibly upset when my wife called him a “fool” when he forgot his gloves in the hotel room. She had reiterated to everyone to make sure we had everything we needed before leaving, but he forgot, so she responded with that “fool” comment.

She could have become defensive or ignored his feelings like most typical Asian parents growing up, but we’re Americanized now and trying to do better. So she bent down to his eye level and apologized. It didn’t take long for him to feel better shortly thereafter, and we had a great time on the slopes with no mention of this incident.

But in a lot of our homes growing up, this either never happened or was a rarity. If an apology did happen, it didn’t happen with words. It came on a plate of sliced fruit. That’s the apology. You had to read between the lines. The fruit was the apology—because the words “I’m sorry” rarely came. In many Asian households, emotions were meant to be controlled, not expressed. And with hierarchy, apologizing to your child could feel like losing face instead of building a connection.

What happened when my wife apologized to him was using real words to match his experience of hurt. She gave him what so many of my clients are still grieving or have chosen to dismiss the impact of not receiving. She came to him with a direct, verbal affirmation by telling him, “I didn’t mean that you were a fool. I meant that was foolish. I should never call you names. Can you forgive me?”

In that moment, she separated his identity from his behavior. He wasn’t “a bad kid”; he’d just made a mistake. That distinction is how we move from toxic shame to healthy growth.

By apologizing, my wife wasn’t "losing face,” as maybe that’s what our parents thought would happen if they apologized to their kids. She was gaining trust. She was showing our son that his heart mattered more than her pride. “I’m sorry.” “I was wrong.” “That must have hurt.”

Healing Asian shame is recognizing that when we’re in the wrong, we don’t just reach for the oranges to slice up and give to our kids. Instead, reach for the words that don’t come easily. Say you’re sorry. Own it. Acknowledge what you did and how it impacts them. In doing so, you give a gift of nurturing that’s far sweeter than any plate of fresh fruit.

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