Open Doors, Open Minds: Why Cultural Education Can’t Start Too Early

When my daughter was about to start first grade at an international school in Munich, her class list was posted on the door with each child’s name and their flag of citizenship. Next to her name was the American flag. She didn’t recognize it. She only knew the Singapore flag, the country where she was born and lived her earliest years. To this day, she still identifies more with it. That moment made something clear to me: for kids growing up between cultures, the question “Where are you from?” isn’t simple. It’s layered, sometimes confusing, but ultimately a gift.

I lived a version of this myself. I grew up moving around the U.S., not overseas, but enough to develop a kind of chameleon quality. I could fit in at a Southern church picnic as easily as on the South Side of Chicago. Two very different Souths, but the same lesson: adaptability matters. Later, when my work took me abroad, I discovered adaptability wasn’t just about accents or manners. It was about learning that business in the Middle East might begin with three cups of tea and a lot of small talk before a contract ever appeared. My German boss had to spell that out for me once. In many parts of Asia, it also means showing respect by using proper honorifics with names, like Khun in Thailand or -san in Japan. The lesson stuck: cultural education isn’t something you finish, it’s a lifelong practice of humility and learning.

That’s why I push back when cultural education gets reduced to “food and flags.” Yes, trying new foods or seeing traditional dress matters. It makes the world tangible for kids. But the deeper lesson is that every culture, like every person, is complex. I’ve been married into Indian culture for nearly 18 years. Friends joke that I’m “more Indian than some Indians,” but the truth is I’m still learning. Just when I think I have a handle on it, something new surprises me. And when someone asks, “What’s your culture like?” I’m reminded how hard it is to define even my own. If I struggle to explain “American culture,” with all its contradictions and diversity, how could I ever think I’ve fully grasped someone else’s? That humility is the heart of cultural education.

My kids remind me of this every day. My son has grown up deeply rooted in German life: local school, local football club, local friends. He’s had experiences so firmly grounded in German culture that we sometimes find ourselves learning from him just to keep up. My daughter, on the other hand, is a classic third culture kid, just as comfortable with cousins in Asia or the U.S. as if they lived next door. Technology collapses distance in ways my own childhood never could. And sometimes the lessons sink in quietly. A few years ago, she said, “I can’t wait for Hanukkah.” My wife and I were surprised—half the time it feels like we’re dragging the kids through our four different family religions—but her excitement showed us that exposure works. Seeds planted early take root in unexpected ways.

That’s also why communities matter. When we lived in Malaysia and Singapore, one of my favorite traditions was the “open house.” On Chinese New Year, families would open their homes: Malays, Indians, Europeans all dropping by to eat, talk, and celebrate together. The same would happen on Deepavali or Hari Raya. You didn’t have to belong to the faith or the culture; you just had to show up with curiosity and goodwill. That’s the model I wish more communities would embrace—not hiding our cultures behind closed doors, but sharing them freely. No one needs to become an expert. Just taste, listen, wear a friend’s traditional outfit for a day, as a way to learn and appreciate.

Cultural education, at its best, is less about memorizing facts than about cultivating openness. It’s about teaching kids, and reminding ourselves, that the world is bigger, messier, and more connected than we can ever fully explain. When my daughter didn’t recognize the American flag, I realized the point wasn’t to drill national symbols into her. It was to give her the confidence to navigate many worlds at once. If more children can grow up with that mindset, maybe the world itself can start to feel a little more like an open house.