I fully expected attitude from my son when I opened his bedroom door. After all, the night before was rough. It was one of those nights you hear about from friends who are parents, and read about in the thousands of articles available online.

The classic 3-year-old toddler tantrum meltdown.

Screaming.

Yelling.

Throwing.

No. No! NO!!

Nothing I tried worked. It wasn’t the first time it happened. It certainly won’t be the last. On this night, however, it all came to a head for me. My patience was running thin. I lost my cool, yelled at Emory, and sent him straight to bed.

No bedtime story. No song. No brushing teeth. No nothing. I’d had enough.

In the immediate aftermath, I can’t describe how small I felt. For as much as my son was going through it with his meltdown, when he heard the bass in my voice, his eyes lit up. And when I was walking out of his room and he realized there would be no story, there was dejection and sadness all over his face. Not only did he know he’d messed up, but he also was well aware Daddy was upset and had lost it.

I went back in the room a few minutes later to give him a hug and apologize, but the damage for this particular night had been done.

How could I let this little person get to me like this? How could I not practice what I preach to him?

Grace in a child’s unconditional love

Sure, recently things had been rough with work and life and trying to balance all of the above along with a 2 month old. However, even with that stress, I didn’t have a pass to lose my cool in that moment with my son. It happens, though.

Being a dad is rough. There will be times where it gets hard. There will be times when you want to yell like I did. It’s a normal feeling that all parents will experience with their children. This was yet another lesson I learned in this journey through fatherhood.

I also learned that one of the beautiful things about being a dad is how forgiving our kids can be. When I opened Emory’s bedroom door the next morning, it was as if nothing happened. He jumped out of bed with a smile and a big hug. Silly me for thinking that he’d still be dwelling on what happened the night before. It’s a characteristic we adults could learn from.

Kids give us a grace that we don’t often deserve. In a moment of frustration for me, my son gave me some grace that I know wasn’t warranted. As a dad, I’m learning just as much, if not more, from him as I hope he’s learning from me.

During this “threenager” stage where tantrums are common, I’m trying to teach him ways to manage his anger in a healthy way. At this age, I’m well aware that he doesn’t really understand it. I just hope some of the methods will stick with him as he gets older.

Meanwhile, I’m glad he already knows how to give his old man a break when I make a mistake.

Photo: © LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS / Adobe Stock.

She had me. I knew it. She knew it. Her logical argument had cleverly rendered my previous protests moot. After trying my best to use logic and reason to persuade her, using each trick I could think of, even bribery, she still had me. Now, there was really nothing left to do but apologize, retreat and admit I was wrong.

I opened my mouth: Nope. Couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t relent and admit I was wrong and her argument stronger than mine. This wasn’t about a female beating a male. This wasn’t the manifestation of fragile pride and ego. This was something more.

This was a 6-year-old proving me wrong.

I suppose as a proud dad, I should be filled with pride when my 6-year-old daughter is able to successfully debate me, but I’m not. I find myself just man enough to admit I get a little petty when she is right and I’m wrong. I’m not particularly proud of this reality, but kids have a unique way of exposing our weaknesses and failures. When my daughter is able to reveal an unfair decision I’ve made, or successfully argue why she should be allowed to do something after I told her she couldn’t, my first instinct is to never give in. It’s innate. It feels compulsive. No matter how wrong I am, I struggle to admit I’m wrong.

I take some solace knowing I am not alone with this affliction. No one is eager to admit they are wrong, but the pervasive tendency to resist surrender, even once the argument has clearly been lost, has become a blight on polite society. How can we as parents tackle a failing of all humanity? All we have to do is something we currently do all the time: be wrong.

Wrong-headed about not ‘fessing up

Today my youngest, who still months away from being 3, woke up from her nap prematurely. I decided since she was awake, she should eat lunch with the rest of us. She resisted. In fact, she resisted so strongly, my wife immerged from her home office to ask me if I needed help. It was good timing. I had lost control of the situation, and I was even close to losing my temper. Why? Because I refused to accept an alternate view point. I refused to admit I was wrong.

It’s certainly not natural to let a 2-year-old be in charge. I’m a big believer that the parents are always in charge, but that doesn’t mean their decisions are always right. In this situation, it was foolish of me to try and force my daughter to eat after she woke up way too early from her nap. I’ve been doing this long enough to know how illogical that is, but it didn’t matter. I said eat. She should eat. And so we went to war. She, pushing her plate of food away. Me, grabbing the plate and slamming it back down in front of her shouting, “Eat!” Yeah … real pro parenting move there. All I had to do was pause, think about the situation, and admit I was wrong.

Parents aren’t good at admitting they are wrong, but I think it’s something we need to do more often. I wonder the long term, cumulative effect of parents raising children in homes where those who are wrong admit they are wrong. Imagine if kids were raised to relent in the face of reason, wisdom and facts? How pliable would minds become? Would dogma be defeated? Maybe indoctrination would become less prevalent? Would weak minds and shallow arguments grow silent? 

We can hope.

The counterintuitive ideas are often hard to accept, but the quest to be right can only be satisfied once someone has the courage to admit they are wrong. You can trust me, because I’m wrong a lot.

Well, except this time. This time, I’m completely right.

Photo: © marinzolich / Adobe Stock.

“PLEASE GET YOUR SHOES ON! I’ve asked you five times, and if you don’t get them on RIGHT NOW, I’m leaving you home alone by yourself!”

It seems those words come out of my mouth once, maybe twice a week while we go through the morning routine. Throw in a “damn” here and there, and it might be more accurate. At some point in one’s parenting career, we all experience these feelings.

Before you start to call the authorities, no — I would never leave my son home alone. It’s one of those empty promises we offer our children so that they do what we are asking of them. If you don’t do this too, please tell me how you prevent the situations like above from happening.

It doesn’t stop at shoes either. It can be either listening to what I’m asking my son to do, or not do. At times, I wonder if we need to have my oldest son’s hearing checked but then I remember that he is the child who can hear a bag of chips being opened from down the block when he is playing with his friends.

As quickly as the frustration inside of me comes, it leaves. Then, a feeling of sorrow inside of me hits.

I start to wonder how I could yell at my son in the way that I did. Did he understand why? Does he know that if he had just done things right the first time, he wouldn’t have to be doing it again? Does he understand how much it pains me to sound like my parents?

I ask myself those questions because, more often than not, I am the one having difficulty remembering he is only 7 years old. He is just a kid. It is up to me to teach him that getting angry and yelling does not get you anywhere in life.

Like the time I was cleaning out our new car and I came across blue slime stuck to the floorboard. It had somehow escaped the plastic bag someone had brought it home in. Someone had stepped on the bag … and out it came. It would have been easy to be frustrated with my son even though it might not be his fault. Not completely. He had stepped on the bag, causing the contents to ooze out, but it was an accident. I had left the bag sitting there for a while and should have been the one to take it out of the car.

There was no reason for me to be upset with him. The slime, despite being stuck to the floorboard, wasn’t hurting anyone and eventually could be cleaned up. But I blew up any way.

It took a few minutes, but I gathered myself, sat down next to him and said, “William, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I know it wasn’t your fault and I was just frustrated that we just bought this car and now there is this blue slime on the floor. I’m sorry.”

Even though he told me that it was OK, I knew that I hurt him. But I also knew my ability to say “I’m sorry” was just what he needed to hear so that he pushes past everything. Part of it is my conscience. I know that I was in the wrong, even though it took me a bit to realize it.

I come by saying I am not a perfect parent honestly. Being able to say I’m sorry to my family for the numerous times I’ve screwed up is the one area of my life that I feel like I am getting right. When I tell William I am sorry for getting frustrated with him, he starts to understand that not only do I feel bad about what I have done or said but that even though I am not going to get it right every time, I am going to try to better. And, until I can make no mistakes, I am going to be sure to always say I’m sorry to my son.

A version of this first appeared on The Rookie Dad. Photo: © Tatyana Gladskih / Adobe Stock.

A few weeks ago, my eldest child did something that made me quite upset. But to be honest, looking back on it now, I cannot even remember exactly what it was.

As parents, we have to discipline our kids on a regular basis to varying degrees so keeping track of every occurrence could take up this whole article. But I do know he did something that made me mad enough to stop doing the dishes, call him into the kitchen and angrily reprimand him.

I didn’t even see the incident. I just overheard him “arguing” with my wife in the other room, essentially defending something wrong he had done. Hearing him talk back rather than own up to what he did when he was clearly in the wrong just really got to me in that moment. Once I spoke with him for a few minutes and I felt he understood why I was so upset, I sent him to his room for a time out. Looking back, I am not I am not proud of how I behaved, but we will come back to that later.

I often give Justin, my eldest, a bit of a hard time when he does something wrong mainly because he is a smart kid and I know he knows better. He does well in school, has lots for friends and his teachers have nothing but great things to say about him. He is also the oldest. His 4-year-old twin siblings see him as a role model, copying his every word and action, right down to the way they eat their food and brushing their teeth. But like most first graders, Justin can be impulsive. He doesn’t always take the time to think about the domino effect of his actions. But that’s part of our job as parents, right? To steer them in the correct direction and drop pearls of wisdom they will hopefully pick up and bring out again in those moments when we are not around to guide them.

After I finished the dishes that night, I felt a sense of dread and sadness as I replayed my interaction with Justin in my head. I had no doubt he had done something wrong and that discipline was warranted. But, more importantly, I realized I was in the wrong, too. I had overreacted. I had raised my voice, pointing and shaking my index finger at him. This must have been very intimidating, standing over him while he had to absorb my anger.

An apology for the ages

I had every right to discipline him, but I could have done so in a more loving and gentle way. I could have gotten my point across without raising my voice or making him feel small. I thought about the times my parents would have loud arguments in front of me about a variety of issues, but would always to apologize to me for their actions because they knew this is not the type of thing they wanted their son to see. More importantly, this was not the type of behavior they wanted me to engage in if I should every marry and have my own children. So I knew from early on the power of the apology.

After a few minutes, I called Justin back into the kitchen. I got down on one knee so we could be eye-to-eye. He wasn’t crying, but I could see he was still upset.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted,” I said to him. “I know you are a good kid and I just want you to make smart choices. I should not have yelled at you like I did and I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting a response.

But Justin looked at me, patted me on the shoulder, smiled and said, “It’s OK, Daddy.” Then he went about his day as happy as ever.

My heart melted because he could have stayed mad. Instead, he accepted my apology in a mature way and moved on with ease to his next adventure.

What I didn’t know was that my wife was in the hallway. She overheard the original incident and she heard my apology. She came into the kitchen and said, “Thank you for doing that.”

I say all this because it seems that we, as a society, have become increasingly enamored with doubling down when we are faced with facts or confronted with the truth. Rather than admit being wrong, learning from it and moving on, we dig our heels into our position and fight no matter how many facts eat away at our argument.

And my son being wrong in one moment does not give me the right to be wrong in another with how I discipline him and give into my emotions.

As parents we have to teach our children right from wrong on a daily basis. That starts with not only knowing when we are in the wrong, but also being willing to admit it without shame. We may view ourselves as the final word in our respective households, but we are flawed and are far from perfect. We make mistakes. We must remember that we are the role models our kids, and sometimes even other parents, will look to. As the saying goes, if we don’t learn from our mistakes we are destined to repeat them.

Apologizing when you are wrong doesn’t make you weak or soft. It makes you human. We should not offer an apology because we want forgiveness. We should apologize because it is right, no matter who or how old the person we did wrong is. The minute we recognize that as society, we will start moving towards a more understanding and a more honest way of living and growing together, flaws and all.

Apology photo: © Tatyana Gladskih / Adobe Stock.

Fatherhood causes one to be reflective about a great many things. There is the grand mystery of life itself, the mystery of those weird silica packets that come in brand new shoes. (Really, why are they there and why do they tell you not to eat them? How many people eat things that come in shoes? Really.).

And there is the mystery of one’s own childhood. A lot of people like to blame their parents for things. Today, I would like to do something different.  I need to atone for some things.  So …

Mom, I am sorry.

I am sorry for the pain I caused you through the sheer joy of mischief that I enjoyed. Like the time I tried to frame you and dad for child abuse in the Sears department store because you wouldn’t buy me a toy.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the time I stole your yarn and pretended to be Spider-Man. I knotted said three balls of yarn to every possible piece of furniture in the living room and turned off the lights before you and dad came home that one night, and you guys both fell into my web and some stuff broke. I laughed quietly in the dark but later regretted it when you guys found my hiding place.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For knocking over spilling (it is a very delicate skill to control an “accidental” spill) my Kool Aid on the nasty delicious vegetables you spent a long time cooking and that I refused to eat. But, boy, our family dog sure did live a long time – I take credit for that.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the holes in the wall, the broken window, and the time I caught the kitchen drapes on fire because I buttered the toast before I put it in the toaster – and then the subsequent damage I caused by playing fire marshal.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For falling asleep (and snoring) during the first act of Les Miserables when you spent a lot of money on lower level section tickets just to culture me. (I’m sorry, but that one girl still sounds like Cyndi Lauper to me in “Bring Him Home” – I know that isn’t a cultured critique).

I’m sorry, Mom.

For sitting in the front pew with you at church and covering my ears (so everyone could see that I was) when the senior choir stood up to sing … and then falling asleep (and snoring) during the sermon.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the time I snuck off to the corner store to play video games for two hours and you didn’t know where I was. I spent over $6 in quarters playing Double Dragon and I was mad at you when you pulled me out of the store because I almost beat the game and still had three credits left in the machine. And I pouted all the way home.

I’m sorry, Mom.

The time I argued with you that wrestling was real and I got mad at you for correcting all the typos in my WWF magazine.

I’m sorry, Mom.

I hope that by apologizing it will buy me some good parenting karma. Ha! Mom, I know you are reading, thanks for being patient with me as a kid.  I love you and I am sorry.

But I did have a lot of fun. LOL.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

Not saying “sorry” to your kid is a thing, apparently. A thing parents actually do. On purpose. For what illogical reasons I can only guess: to be tough, to be dominant, to show no sign of weakness?

I cannot imagine not being upfront and honest with my kids, or with anyone really, and admitting fault, asking for forgiveness and apologizing. I’m no less strong a man or parent for having said “I’m sorry.”

“If There Is No Struggle, There Is No Progress” — Frederick Douglass

The brilliant 19th century abolitionist wasn’t referring to raising children or to the relative hardships of a 20th century white middle-class young man either, but his words have come to define my existence and helped shape not only my world view but also my life as a dad to a pair of daughters. Parenting will, at times, be difficult and mistakes will undoubtedly be made, but if we acknowledge and look to pull lessons out of those struggles, they may lead to progress. Another great man once said true love travels on a gravel road, and I’d add that you have to recognize the bumpiness along the way to come out the other side better for the experience. This is why I apologize to my kids when I screw up.

Being an omniscient tour de force of a father was never my calling because living on a shaky pedestal is a hindrance to evolution in the role. I don’t want to be a dad who always has to be right, I want to be a man who’s always looking to improve as a dad.

There’s a story my mom still tells of my most flamboyant, youthful indiscretion. I was 17, driving with no car insurance, an expired registration and a suspended license as a result of the first two — The Holy Trinity of stupid. I was then pulled over for speeding in a school zone. My mother quickly realized the officer who hit the traffic stop jackpot that day was a customer of the locally owned pharmacy where she worked. He offered leniency as a result of this good relationship but I declined. I was in the wrong and didn’t want a “get out of jail free” card (note: I was not under arrest, but the metaphor still works). I accepted the one-year suspension of my driver’s license and hefty fine, and said sorry to him and to my parents. I was a fool and knew that I needed to learn the hard way from my mistakes.

I went on to make more mistakes as a husband and a father, and in every case I apologized to those aggrieved, even if they were 18 months or 11 years of age. I apologize to my kids when I am wrong because what would I be teaching them if I stubbornly dug in to defend my flawed position? Nothing good, that’s what. There’s a time to be steadfast and strong, but it is not when you are wrong or when you’ve messed something up for someone you love and who loves you. That is precisely the time to take personal responsibility and own up to the error, to talk it out, apologize, grow and make progress as a person and as a parent. These are the lessons and the mindset I am trying to pass on to my daughters every time I am upfront with them and apologize; the understanding that you will be wrong and make mistakes in life but refusing to admit fault will never make you right. That stubborn behavior and refusal to apologize will only damage relationships, even and maybe especially those with your children.

I pride myself on being extremely reliable to my wife and kids, but sometimes I don’t deliver on promises made; whether it’s not remembering to pick up a library book for my oldest girl before we leave for vacation or missing my youngest daughter’s second-grade class party. I could easily make excuses or worse, deny ever agreeing to do or attend those things but my kids would always know the truth and will begin to see their daddy cast with shadows where there was once only light. And for what — to project some kind of manufactured outward strength? That’s asinine. I am not made weaker by apologizing to my kids when an apology is called for. In fact, quite the opposite. My willingness to say “I’m sorry” when I’m in the wrong moves me into a position of greater strength and of enhanced trustworthiness. My daughters will know their dad is putting it all on the line, all of the time, so that if, by chance, I once again fail to keep a promise or make some other mistake, they’ll expect and demand nothing but the truth, a request for a hug and a heartfelt apology from a dad who respects and loves them too much to deny them that; a dad who wants progress from struggle.

Do you ever apologize to your child?