In the early 1980s - long before smartphones, tracking apps, and social media bans - my young daughters would wander down to the local shop with a handful of coins to buy my cigarettes.
They’d come home proud, a little excited … they had been on an adventure and all was right with the world.
We didn’t believe in wrapping children in bubble wrap. We believed in scraped knees, small responsibilities, and lessons learned the hard way.
Because banning things doesn’t remove danger - it makes it more tempting… and harder to see.
But then came a moment that stopped me in my tracks.
One day, a family friend saw the girls at the shop and offered them a lift home. They happily accepted. And so I began the journey with Tripitaka...
When they told me, my blood ran cold. My girls had gotten into a car with a man simply because they knew him? That would not do.
So we decided to test them.
We quietly let our friend know... he agreed to play his role.... and we also clued in the lady who ran the shop. I sat the girls down and told them clearly:
“Never get into a car with anyone unless I say it’s okay.”
Then we set the trap.
The car pulled up.
“But your Mum said it was fine this time.”
They hesitated…
And got in.
This was one of those moments when I realised that there was a difference between trust and trustworthy. And so it was that we created the password.
We chose Tripitaka.
The girls loved the old Monkey Magic series. Tripitaka, the young monk, was on a long and dangerous journey - facing demons, deception, and uncertainty. He wasn’t shielded from the world. He moved through it, learning who to trust.
But he didn’t travel alone.
He had Monkey, Pigsy, and Sandy ...trusted companions.
The password was perfect. Unusual enough to be secure. Simple enough for children to remember.
And it carried a quiet lesson:
Trust matters… but trust must be verified.
From that day on, if anyone offered the girls a lift - or anything unexpected - they had one simple job:
Ask for the password.
If the person didn’t know “Tripitaka”… they stayed put.
No fear. No confusion. Just a clear line in the sand.
We never had to use it in a real emergency.
But the power it gave them was very real.
They weren’t sheltered. They were equipped.
Decades later, I rang both daughters out of the blue and asked, “What was the password?” Without hesitation: “Tripitaka.”
My eldest laughed. “It was perfect. We knew Tripitaka needed trusted friends - you were telling us who to trust.”
Now there’s a grandson. And he has a code word too. Not ours but HIS.
Three generations - protected not by walls, but by a simple idea wrapped in story.
We can’t block the real world out.
Children will always find a way - whether it’s a corner shop in the 1980s or social media in 2026.
The answer isn’t more rules. It isn’t more bubble wrap.
Let them roam a little. Let them fall. Let them get dirty. Give them real jobs. Real responsibility.
And then give them the tools to navigate the world wisely.
Because Tripitaka was never just a password.
The message was freedom - with a compass.
And all these years later… Tripitaka’s still travelling with our family.
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