On Navigating Parenthood

Boys,

Sometimes I get carried away with this blog and I start going places and I end up looking around and forget how I got there. I feel like we could use a refresh — a little “let’s get back to our roots” kinda thing. I say it all the time, but I want this to be something you read someday and either learn something about yourselves, about me, or maybe catch a little wisdom from time to time. Before I became a dad, a part of me wanted to be the stereotype. Let me paint the picture.

You get home from school and you’re frustrated about something. Maybe it’s girl trouble, or maybe you had a tough time understanding something and your mom and I can tell you just have something on your mind. Your mom and I ask you what it is, and you tell us. It’s not easy to get out, but you do and your mom comforts you. I pat you on the back and say something understated, like, “it’ll be OK bud.”

Later on that night, I call you into my larger-than-most home office. I’m tending the fire. Shadows are flickering against the wall, which is somewhat unsettling for you at first, but you’ve been here before and somehow you find this place soothing. You’d never tell mom, but it’s your favorite room in the house. Mine too. Without thinking, you climb up in the larger-than-most brown leather chair. I’m patient. I don’t say anything right away. I put the fire poker down, then reach under my desk and open the fridge. I pull out a sprite and start to pour it into a thick glass over ice. I top it off with a cherry and hand it to you. “Don’t tell your mom,” I’d say with a wink.

Then, I’d walk over to the bar cart. You take a sip and watch me carefully select one from the dozens of decanters that sit underneath my trophy case — how I’m able to fill up such a larger-than-most cabinet with so many trophies is something you think about often. I walk it back across the room, pour it neat into my own glass, and sit down in my larger-than-most leather swivel chair. “So tell me,” I’d say as I ever so slightly tip my glass in your direction. “What’s [insert that thing on your mind from earlier] all about?”

From there, you’d try your best to lay out the scene and I’d listen. Then, and this is the important part, I’d have some life lesson or story that I can tie from my life back to whatever it is you’re going through. I always wanted to be the dad that had the right things to say at the right time.

That isn’t always my strong suit. When your mom and I argue, she usually wins because she is great about processing information quickly, then stating her case as to why she feels a certain way. I’m more of the type that needs to sit with something for awhile (not ideal for heated arguments) and once I find my opinion, I try to lay it out clearly to those ready to listen. In my experience, by the time I get to this point, it’s hard to find someone ready to listen.

I want to be the dad who you go to when you’re in trouble, or scared, or stressed… and I want to say the thing that calms you down, gives you confidence, and eases your mind.

The reality is that I’m usually the kind of dad who will show you right from wrong through my actions. My whole outlook on life is basically to be a good person and do good by others. If there is opportunity to be courageous, to go after what you want with confidence, to do what makes you happy, then all the better. And deep down, I know that I’ll get through to you because you two will know me better than anybody. I might not get through to you in the romantic way I draw it up in my head sometimes, but the important thing is the message, not the delivery.

So hear me now. I will always do my best to give you advice whether it’s warranted or not because you two are the most important things to me and all I want is for you boys to be happy. I might not always give you the best advice right away — if you need that, go to your mom — but I promise I’ll always give you my best whenever you need me (and sometimes when you don’t).

All that because I love you boys.

Love,

Dad