Not long after our children were born, we did what many parents do — we bought savings insurance plans for them. Month after month, we quietly set aside a small amount, carrying in our hearts the hope of what those policies might become twenty years later. And now, when we look at the projected returns printed on the statements, we feel a certain sense of reassurance and comfort.

At the same time, I often find myself thinking back to the time and energy we invested in our children’s education. In many ways, it feels surprisingly similar to a savings plan as well — a form of investment that grows through compound interest.

Perhaps comparing education to money and investment sounds a little too “calculating”. But the truth is, the two really do share many similarities.

With savings insurance, we contribute only a small amount each month. The burden does not seem particularly heavy. But it requires consistency over a very long period of time — and interruptions matter. In the early years especially, the growth on paper is almost invisible. The numbers climb so slowly that at times I even wondered whether it was truly worthwhile. But once the accumulation reaches a certain threshold, the curve suddenly bends upward. Growth becomes visible — and then surprisingly rapid.

It reminded me very much of teaching my second child to recognise Chinese characters. During the early stages, progress felt painfully slow, truly like 牽牛上樹 (“dragging an ox up a tree”). Day after day, we circled endlessly around the same basic words and phrases. But then one day, while lying on the floor beside a songbook that was already nearly falling apart from overuse, he pointed at the lyrics and half-sang, half-read aloud:

“大灰狼，大灰狼” (“Big bad wolf, big bad wolf.”)

He had crossed his threshold!

Compared with his sibling, my second child learned to recognise characters and absorb new knowledge more slowly. Perhaps it was because I could no longer devote the same amount of focused time and energy to teaching him. Or perhaps every child simply has different sensitivities, interests, and rhythms of development.

But I discovered something important: as long as the process continued consistently — without interruption, without giving up — eventually his learning also began producing results that resembled compound interest.

From the day he recognised the words “big bad wolf”, something suddenly changed. He began reading every character he saw. And in him, I witnessed another kind of cycle beginning to form:

Small progress increased his confidence, which made him more willing to learn new things. And new knowledge, in turn, strengthened both his ability and his confidence even further.

And so, his learning began snowballing forward, almost as though it were demonstrating the true power of compound interest.

Over the years, many parents have shared similar experiences with me. They often describe how, in the beginning, their child could recognise only one or two new characters a day. Sometimes it took several days just to firmly remember a single one. Progress felt so slow that it was almost invisible. But then one day, while watching television, the child suddenly began reading the subtitles aloud character by character — leaving the entire family astonished.

Yes, in the beginning, progress often feels painfully slow, even frustrating. But those seemingly insignificant daily accumulations are quietly building ability inside the child’s mind. And once children cross that invisible threshold, their abilities begin flowing outward naturally, like water finally released after a dam has opened.

Of course, there were also times when I almost gave up myself.

For a period of time, I was teaching my child how to use Chinese classifiers correctly. Every day I explained them. Every day I corrected them. And still, they confidently continued saying things like 一個書 (“a book”) or 一隻桌子 (“a table”). I began wondering to myself: Are classifiers simply too abstract? Or is my method wrong?

Then one day, while we were walking in the park, they suddenly pointed at the sky and said:

“媽媽，你看那一片雲。” (“Mum, look at that patch of cloud.”)

For a moment, I froze. Not because of the cloud itself — but because of the classifier “片”.

They used it naturally. Effortlessly. Without hesitation.

That was not sudden enlightenment. That was long-term accumulation finally crossing a critical threshold.

Even today, whenever I design new courses, I still have tremendous faith in this phenomenon of compound interest.

I still believe in small amounts, fixed amounts, and the mindset of running a marathon.

I still choose to trust children — and to trust that slow, honest curve that rises quietly upward over time.