When Your College Kid Schools You Over Breakfast

I've always prided myself on asking my kids (more like grown-ups) thought-provoking questions. As they've grown, I've tried to engage them in conversations that matter, hoping to glimpse the adults they're becoming. But sometimes, these conversations boomerang back in unexpected ways.

Last Sunday, at the charming Maman Cafe on the beautiful campus of Princeton University, I found myself on the receiving end of a lesson from my son David, a junior psychology major at Penn State. As he savored his croque madame and I accompanied my chicken wrap with sips of coffee,

"So, based on what you've been studying," I asked between sips of coffee, "what's your preferred research methodology?"

David looked up from his croque madame, thoughtfully chewed a bite of the ham and cheese perfection, and replied with the casual confidence that only college students can muster: "Dad, that depends on what you are studying."

I sat back, fork suspended mid-air. "Wow, David."

In that moment, I realized my son had distilled years of academic debate into a single, elegant sentence. He wasn't being evasive or noncommittal—he was being precisely right. In the world of research, methodology isn't about preference as much as appropriateness. It's not like choosing between chocolate and vanilla ice cream. It's more like selecting the right tool from a toolbox.

Quantitative research gives us the numbers, the statistics, the measurable variables that can be analyzed. It's the stuff of surveys, experiments, and clinical trials. It answers questions like "how many," "how often," and "to what extent." When David studies memory retention across different age groups, he needs quantitative methods to measure and compare.

Qualitative research, on the other hand, dives into the rich, messy reality of human experience. It's the domain of interviews, focus groups, and observation. It answers questions like "why," "how," and "what does it mean to you." When David wants to understand how people experience anxiety or grief, qualitative methods let him access stories and meanings that numbers alone can't capture.

And then there's mixed methods—the research equivalent of having your cake and eating it too. It combines both approaches, recognizing that some questions require both breadth and depth, both measurement and meaning.

I realized that in asking about David's "preferred" methodology, I was treating research like a personality test. Are you a quantitative person or a qualitative person? But that's not how good research works, and certainly difficulty to reduce adult experience either.

As Norman K. Denzin, a renowned sociologist, once put it: "The questions you ask determine the answers you get." The method should serve the question, not the other way around.

It reminded me of watching a child try to build something, perhaps attempting to hammer a nail with the wrong end of a screwdriver. "Different jobs need different tools," we tell them, handing over the proper hammer. Now, sitting across from my college junior at Maman Cafe, I felt like I was on the receiving end of that same simple wisdom, just in a more sophisticated academic context.

The croque madame grew cold as we talked. David explained how his professors emphasize the importance of "methodological fit"—aligning your research approach with your research question. Choose quantitative methods when you need to test hypotheses, measure relationships, or generalize findings. Choose qualitative when you need to explore new territory, understand complex phenomena, or give voice to lived experiences.

"It's not about what I prefer," David said. "It's about what gets me closer to the truth I'm trying to uncover."

When did my video game-loving kid become so wise?

Later that day, I found myself reflecting on how often we fall into the trap of methodological tribalism. In politics, business, education, and even parenting, we often cling to one approach as superior, dismissing others outright.

Should education focus on standardized tests or individual creativity? Should businesses prioritize hard data or employee experience? Should parents be strict disciplinarians or emotional nurturers?

Perhaps the answer in each case is: it depends on what you're trying to accomplish, plus it can be both.

David's breakfast wisdom has stayed with me. There's something profound in his simple response that extends beyond the realm of academic research. Maybe the best approach in life, as in research, isn't about declaring allegiance to one method or another, but about staying flexible, responsive, and focused on the questions we're trying to answer.

As for me, I'm just proud that my son is learning to think this way. And a little humbled that over a plate of croque madame the student became the teacher.

Next Sunday's breakfast conversation? I think I'll ask about his dating life. But I'm preparing myself for another lesson in return—perhaps something about respecting privacy and boundaries. After all, the questions we ask determine the answers we get.