I am going through a long and sentimental (bordering on mawkish) ending of sorts. It involves a 20-year-old Coleman pop-up camper.

My wife and I bought it new just after we were married. This was well before we had the twins, well before I even dreamed that was on the horizon. It’s old and worn now, ravaged by time, memory, miles and many backyard sleepovers. I am trying to figure out what to do with it as it’s barely roadworthy.

We were so delightfully young and naive when we purchased it. For weeks we looked at floor plans, considering size and amenities, before finally deciding on a smaller one that could be towed by my six-cylinder Chevy S-10. A smaller size would also make backing it up easier. Truth be told, I suck at backing a trailer. This one proved small enough it actually be hand-pushed into a space when necessary. It never occurred to us we might be camping with twin toddlers or giant teenagers, so we based our needs on just us. It contained no toilet and an interior set up to accommodate just two newlyweds and a guitar.

The camper’s been in our backyard for some time now. The boys like to hang out in it as the WiFi reaches that far. I’ve got to put it down before … well, I can’t.

You see, when we bought the camper, I purchased a nice leather-bound journal. I put it in a drawer inside the camper and vowed to write a bit about every night spent in it. And I did. The writing is not very good, few metaphors or deep insights, but the years are covered, each trip dutifully noted. Through the pages, the boys grow up, I age, the relationship with my wife deepens and a continuity and connection is established. Over the years, it has held the stories and hopes of a young family growing together. Stories of thunderstorms and frightened toddlers, scraped knees and sleepless nights. Hopes for the future in the minds of 6-year-olds and my hopes for their lives moving forward.

I am very glad I bought that journal. It sits to my left as I am writing this right now.

I spent a couple of recent evenings in the old camper, looking through what was in it when I came across the journal. With a curious urgency — fueled perhaps by the beers — I put it with the pile of things to take into the house.

Here’s the thing. The “ending” of that old camper is a new “beginning” for that journal. It is done with its long present and now can begin to show me my past: a past where I hoped for my boys’ future. It is so strange how, as one writes in diaries and personal journals, how prescient we can be. There’s an entry from 2011, written of an early morning at a state park in central Ohio, where I say: “The boys are getting along surprisingly well. They rarely fight or bicker and are good friends, it seems. Who knows how long that’ll last, but I really hope it does.”

How could I know then that, nine years later, they’d still be best friends?

Or, that at the time I was watching the beginnings of what I think will be a lifelong friendship?

How, perhaps, would I know that camping and bonding in the close quarters of that little camper would help that along? Maybe I had helped it through sheer happenstance and in a leather-bound journal I’d noted it. Now I can look it up.

Recently, a fellow father and writer on this website purchased a used camper. He solicited advice from a social media group we are in. I typed a long answer — advice on gear and the such — but I deleted it. The real advice was too ethereal and came from a place I’m at now, a place he’ll get to, a place he already is. Camping, like so many other family adventures and hobbies, is about memory-making. Their worth can only be revealed later. However, at the time you’re making them, you still somehow know that even if you don’t realize it then.

About the author

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. Bill also coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

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This blog post, first published in 2020, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

I love football. Setting my fantasy football lineup and cheering on my teams are among my favorite fall traditions. As a father, I try to share my love of the game with my kids. Watching football together is becoming a tradition with my boys and, in addition to it being fun entertainment, I am finding great life lessons that can be learned as we watch together. Here are seven of the best that I have found:

1. Even with talent, you need to work hard

Talent is not enough to succeed. You need to practice and condition your body so your talent shines. Every level of the sport has a weeding-out process. Just because you are talented in high school doesn’t mean you’ll shine at college football or even have the chance to play. What separates those who excel is the work and effort players put in to use their talents. Our kids need to know that as they discover their abilities they need hard work and practice to develop them. Talent may get their foot in the door, but their work ethic gets them a seat at the table.

2. Don’t give up

Most of the time, in football someone is trying very hard to knock you down, to make you fail. Many times they will succeed. But you have to get back up, go back to the huddle and try again. The lesson for our kids: you stand a better chance of winning by getting up and trying again.

3. Success comes through setting goals

Football is a game of inches. You are always scrambling for every inch of the field you can get. Trying to come up with one play that will get you the 100 yards you need for a touchdown is tough. So since you get a brand new set of four downs every 10 yards you need to break it down into 10-yard goals. Each play should get you closer to that first-down line. If you keep making that goal you’ll be in position to score before you know it. When our kids are faced with big tasks or problems we need to teach them how to break them down into manageable goals so they can be successful.

4. You win through teamwork

Football is a team sport. Every player needs to do their job and do it well for the team to succeed. The quarterback needs to be able to count on his backs and receivers to move the ball down the field when he gives it to them. The quarterback, running backs and receivers count on the offensive line to make time for a play to develop and make gaps in the other team’s defensive line. Every player on the field has a job that the other players rely on him to do well so that their work is successful. It is a great way to illustrate to kids how teamwork actually works and how everyone’s role affects everyone else.

5. Sometimes you lose

You are going to lose sometimes, it is an unavoidable fact. An undefeated season is a rare feat. The most successful teams usually have at least a few losses. They don’t let those losses set the tone for the rest of the season. They accept them, learn from them and prepare for the next game, intent on winning. Learning to accept defeat and failure and move on with a positive attitude is one of the most valuable lessons kids can learn.

6. Great things happen when you put in great effort

It could be that the effort was put in at practice or at the gym. It could be extra effort they used during a play. Whatever the case, it is the extra effort that they put in that the other players didn’t that allows them to make or receive incredible passes, break off for big runs, stop other players from getting the ball or getting to the ball. Big plays are always the result of someone putting extra effort to do their job well. This translates so very well off the field. Effort is the key to big successes in life. The sooner our kids learn to put effort into what they want to be successful at, the sooner they will realize those successes.

7. Nothing lasts forever …

As soon as a team finishes one play, be it successful or disastrous, it needs to start preparing for the next one. When a game ends, win or lose, the team needs to prepare for the next one. The moment the season ends the team starts preparing for the next one. Not everyone will be back. That play, that game, that season may have been a player’s last one. Planning for the future and remembering the past are important skills to have. You also have to be able to do your best in the moment you are in. In football and in life, it is the moment you are in that matters. Enjoy it, do your best in it—live it fully. Your success is determined in that moment, which will soon be gone.

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This football lessons post, which first appeared on our Chicago Dads Group blog in 2018, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

This graduation season, I moved the tassel to the other side of my mortarboard for I have passed Parenting a Tween and commenced Parenting A Teenager. Where’s my stinkin’ cake? What, no moonbounce in the backyard? What a rip-off.

Graduating a kid from tween to teen usually doesn’t register on either end of the celebration spectrum. That’s a shame. Having a child turn 13 is a special time for the child and also the mother and father. It also marks a turning point in the ever-evolving parent/child relationship. In fact, it just might be the most important time in both of your lives.

Of course, the baby years are important. However, I’m reminded of a baseball saying: “You can’t win the World Series in the first month of the season but you can lose it.” I think this applies to parenting too.

So much of the parenting world, from “expert” books to those tired parenting memes to the overall cultural conversation about kids, revolves around the early years and the sleepless nights. In retrospect, all that stuff — the baby, toddler and early elementary years — is the easiest part of a parent’s job responsibility. We can get that shit done with only determination and a stronger gag reflex. For our efforts, we’re rewarded with baby smiles, adorably mispronounced words, a fountain of kisses and air-tight squeezy hugs.

So, don’t drop your baby on its head. Don’t blow secondhand smoke in its tiny face. Definitely don’t be an asshole as your child grows from baby to toddler to tween –someone sorta resembling a real-life actual person. But try as you may, you aren’t going to “win it all” at parenting in those early years.

With that in mind, here’s what I’ve learned about parenting by parenting a tween:

Watch those ‘foreverwords’

I was speaking with a friend when she mentioned the term “foreverwords.” Say your tween child has done something. Maybe that something is grand or maybe it is life-altering in what could be a possibly terrible way. Regardless of how good or poor their decision-making proves to be, how you respond initially — the actions and words you use in that very moment as you and she/he teeter on a high wire — will form the foundation for a possible shift in your parent/child relationship.

The idea of pausing before speaking or acting out those foreverwords hit me hard. The wrong choice could be ugly.

The tween years of parenting require more nuanced thought, on-the-fly nimbleness, and patiently considered words and actions. Our rewards during this often confusing and conflicting time won’t always be as adorable or evident or immediate or obvious as they were in those baby and toddler years. However, they will be powerful for the life of your child.

So tread lightly, moms and pops. The cement is wet still and awfully impressionable. You do not want to misstep and cause cracks in your kid’s permanent foundation. Not now, not after you took such care to keep them alive and reasonably happy for the past decade or so.

Be more involved with them than ever before

You don’t get to parent less or clock out in any way from the job when your kid reaches the tween years. The exact opposite is true. You need to put in more hours, give your parenting decisions more thought, and double down on your commitment to the job of being a dad or mom.

Parenting a tween (and I’m sure a teen as well) requires more from you. I’m afraid many parents don’t get this memo. Many parents think their job is nearly over in the tween years and they check out through the teen years.

That’s a terrible, terrible move.

Yes, your older child is pretty darn self-reliant now. They have a phone, they can let themselves into the house by themselves and stay at home while you run errands locally. It’s kinda great for you and them.

You can have conversations about some grown-up stuff with your tween and it’s actually enjoyable and thought-provoking at times.

While all that is true, your 11-, 12-, 13-, 15-, 17-year-old child needs you to be a more actively involved parent now. More than ever before.

They need us more, even if they insist they don’t. So we need to parent more.

More thoughtfully, more passionately, more earnestly, more actively.

More.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

A version of this first appeared on Out with the Kids. It first ran here in 2017 and has since been updated. Photo: ©LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS / Adobe Stock.

“Dude, you can live with us if you need to!”

My childhood buddy, Tim, blurted these words when I told him my parents were divorcing. I was 17 years old at the time, and to this day I appreciate his dramatic concern for me.

But I had to smile and remind him: “I’m not becoming an orphan. But thanks for the offer.”

Tim’s offer was tempting. His parents, Jerry and Ann, had been like a “second Dad and Mom” to me for years. Although I enjoyed a healthy upbringing and loved my parents, Tim’s house became the neighborhood “hub” or hangout, especially for boys, during my childhood. The main reason? He had three brothers—Cary, Bryan and Brendan—who loved to play pick-up sports.

The brothers and a group of neighborhood buddies would play street hockey out front, ping pong in the basement, and/or card games in the kitchen nearly every day. During a few of those early years we even played ice hockey on a backyard rink, and Jerry would help me tie my skates. Even before we knew we were hungry, Ann would provide a vat of chili or a pan full of bacon to be devoured by growing boys.

My Second Mom — the “boy whisperer”

Looking back, Ann was especially gifted as the mother of four boys. Somehow she navigated all that roughhousing and trash-talking (along with all that equipment) with grace. And her skills as a nurse helped with all the minor injuries compiled along the way.

You could say Ann was a “boy whisperer.” She often used humor to cope with the chaos surrounding her. For example, she hung an attractive sign above the toilet in the basement bathroom that read: “My aim is to keep this bathroom clean. Your aim will help.”

One of her favorite stories about raising four boys involved her son Bryan when he was young. On a particularly frustrating day as a tired mother buried in childcare, she lamented aloud that she always thought her life would be filled with fame and fortune. Then she heard Bryan’s little voice try to encourage her.

“Guess you have to go to Plan B, Mom!” he said.

Ann would always cackle at that punchline, displaying just how much she loved her boys—a different kind of family wealth.

Ann was not all food and games, however. Whenever we stepped out of line, she would gently nudge us to be better people by saying “hear—hear.” That was her way of getting our attention. What she was really saying was “Have a conscience at the base of all that goofing around.”

No doubt my childhood friends and I didn’t thank Ann enough back then. But that is what made her well-attended 80^th birthday party so special several years ago. Because Ann had “showed up” for them as boys, many of those neighborhood buddies “showed up” for her decades later. I have never seen so many grown men (including myself) proclaiming their gratitude to one woman for positively impacting their boyhoods.

During our many toasts to Ann, it was as if she had created a “Fifth Son” Olympics in which we were all competing. Of course, she had already won the gold medal in the “Second Mom” event. One guy even called Ann his “Second Mom” in front of his “First Mom,” who looked on approvingly because she was Ann’s friend and former neighbor.

Appreciate “Second Moms and Dads”

Sadly, Jerry passed away many years ago, and Ann passed more recently. Perhaps the most poignant image from Ann’s memorial service featured many of those same grown men “showing up” again to carry her casket. That is the power of a “Second Mom.”

Although “second Moms and Dads” don’t get a national day of recognition, maybe they should. So be sure to think about the people who may have acted as “second parents” in your childhood. Try to thank them, if possible. Hopefully, you can also serve as a second parent to some of your children’s friends. Be a host, coach, teach, carpool, tell stories or just plain show up and listen to them.

Tim’s offer for me to join his family back in a moment of crisis when I was 17 made me realize I would always have both a first and a second home in this world. Many decades later, I visited Ann in a nursing home, shortly before her passing. When she saw me, her eyes lit up and she whispered: “Vin-Man.” That was one of my nicknames in childhood, and hearing her say it made me feel like a superhero. 

In essence, that’s what “second parents” do. They make children feel special and show them they have a second home if needed. Hence, “Second Moms and Dads” are like Plan B. So here’s to Plan B!   

A teachable moment for children doesn’t always come along on the drive to school. However, emergencies present themselves when you least expect them. It’s how I taught my kids about getting help by calling 911.

It was a good morning. We had plenty of time to get to school. We were about six blocks away and then … I drove by a man, sitting in the street, a hysterical woman by his side.

I looked at the time and pulled over. I turned on my hazards and walked over to the man. He had just been hit by a car, and the woman was the driver. I assessed the situation, asked him several important questions before I called 911.

The man was in good spirits even though I think his arm was broken. The driver, on the other hand, was having a full-on panic attack. She had gone back into her car, and I tried to comfort her while having her teenage daughter, who had been in her car with her, stand guard to make sure the man didn’t fall or get hit by another car.

Soon a fire engine arrived and I told the crew that it should send someone to look at the driver since she was in pretty bad shape. I wished the man good luck and headed off to school.

I told my kids what I did, and that the man was OK and safe now. The underlying lesson was this: If someone needs your help and you can provide that help, you should.

And then I explained to them what 911 is and how it works.

And we still got to school before the doors closed.

When should your child call 911?

Teach your child to call 911 when police, fire and/or medical personnel are needed quickly because of an emergency or immediate danger or threat. Remember that it is always “9-1-1” not “9-11” so younger children unfamiliar with making calls don’t look for an 11 button.

Your child should call 911 in case of emergencies, such as:

• a fire that’s out of control
• a crime, such as a break-in, mugging or shooting
• a serious car accident
• someone is seriously hurt, bleeding or unconscious
• someone choking or having trouble breathing

Reassure your children that the 911 operator and emergency personnel he or she sends are the “good guys.” They are trained to ask important questions and gather information as well as calm, reassure and instruct the caller. Children should try to be cool, clear and concise as possible when talking to them.

Questions 911 will often ask in emergencies

• What is your emergency?
• Where are you calling from (town, county, address, cross streets)?
• Is the victim male or female?
• What is the victim’s age?
• Is the victim breathing?
• Is there any bleeding?
• Is the person responsive (awake/alert) or unconscious?
• What is your phone number? (Needed so 911 can call back if you get disconnected.)

Photo by Ash H via Pexels.

Tax Day has now come and gone. Once again, NONE of my working teens filed their taxes because I told them not to bother. With the standard deduction for single dependents nearing $1,300, I told my kids to save the time and sit this filing year out.  

Since each has started working, I have given this same advice. And, honestly, I’ve never been 100% sure that I/they are doing the right thing.

From my point of view, if my kids ultimately have $0 of tax viability (we live in Florida, so no state income tax, either) then filing to get the $20 lost does not make much sense. 

Whenever I encourage my kids to take the easy way out, I feel like I’ve short-changed a learning opportunity. 

But have I?   

Learn from the “act” of filing taxes

My father’s rule was simple: once you made $1, you filed taxes. I remember loving the time my dad spent sitting me down with the manual 1040EZ form we’d picked up from the Cedar Rapids, Iowa Public Library. I’d dutifully dice up my $500 annual earnings W2-box-by-W2-box. And, in the end, I’d get back the money I’d paid in on. It felt like a surprise bonus.    

That nostalgia had me itching to teach the same lessons to my working teens. That is until they told me filing taxes can be as simple as a few simple clicks on their phone. 

Nostalgic feeling – gone.    

Yeah, the efficiency of the internet has yielded the “act” of insisting your kids file taxes, well, meaningless and devoid of the father/kid interaction I am after.

More importantly, though, than my desire to spend more time with my teens, I began to wonder about their legal obligations for filing with the government by Tax Day.     

Do teens have to file taxes?

I was relieved to learn it is fine NOT to file a tax return if a teen’s earnings do not exceed the standard, single deduction for a dependent. In tax year 2023 (returns that are due in April 2024), that amount is around $1,300.

So, no, a teen not filing taxes is, as they’d say, “not that deep.” 

While your teen may not be required to file taxes, they can without any downside. The only possible outcome of filing at lower incomes (like those of my teens) is the opportunity to, potentially, get a refund. This would occur if they paid federal taxes in excess of their liability.  These amounts are typically small and should be weighed against the time (and possible software fees) it might take to file.

I do like the idea of enforcing the discipline of filing taxes for teens. I regret I did not have them each go through the process. It would have opened them up to conversations that may be important down the road, such as concepts like “dependents,” “standard deductions,” and “tax credits.” Through these types of chats, it may become clear how meaningful it may be to a family’s taxes to claim teens as dependents until they age out. (As of 2024, a teen can be claimed as a dependent until age 19 or 24 if a full-time student).

Filing taxes is also an opportunity to explain the importance of filing status on tax liability – and not only for them! I’ll leave those lessons until next year, I guess. 

What if my teen has only been paid in cash?

My 14-year-old daughter was only paid in cash for babysitting in 2023. It was only a small amount of money made babysitting for a select few friends. She assumed, then, that taxes did not pertain to her. To me, it was also a no-brainer to avoid filing a tax return.

Upon further review, I may have messed up.  

The IRS guidance mentions $400 cash income as the line where a teen can be characterized as “self-employed” and, therefore, subject to paying taxes. Take note: the “self-employed” designation does allow for write-offs that would reduce or eliminate their tax liability. 

So, while she could have filed, given the amounts, I’m OK with her skipping out with her brothers. 

I feel better now. We haven’t skirted the taxing authorities. My kids would say they’ve saved time and that’s a win. I would contend we delayed a lesson they will need and should understand. 

We’ll all have to pick up that lesson next Tax Day.

Teens and taxes photo by Nataliya Vaitkevich via Pexels.

I sat with my cat, Faith, in the waiting room of the veterinarian. Faith, a rescue, had been in our family for nearly 11 of her 14 years. And I’d strongly suspected this might be our last trip together.

During her physical, the vet started listing what was wrong. After four years of hyperthyroidism, she now had detached retinas (leading to blindness), renal failure, massive dehydration, and a troubling abdominal issue that might be cancerous.

“There’s a lot going on,” the doctor said, “and while we can do more tests, there’s not many treatments we can really offer …”

I grew up with cats. And I’d seen pets die. But I’d never had to make that call. I’d never had to decide to end a life. I’d also never had to break the news to my own kids.

My son, 7, understands death. He knew what I meant when I said Faith wasn’t coming home again. He wasn’t there as I held her, or as I looked on when the doctor added a medicine into a syringe. And he wasn’t there as I killed our pet. Yes, it was the humane thing to do, and yes she’d been suffering for months, but I still felt horrible. Like a twisted murderer.

That night, I held my sobbing son in my arms. Grief overrode him, and while I tried to talk to him about the decision, I couldn’t help but wonder about what I’d done. Who am I to play God? At the same time, how will I feel someday if my son has to make the same call about me?

We all live on borrowed time. Eventually, that time runs out. It’s not a pleasant thought, but I couldn’t help but wonder about my final days. Will I deteriorate and my body collapse issue by issue? Will my son, this same sensitive child I’ve raised, determine what to do with his old man’s body? How can I help him understand the nuances and complexities of this decision when I barely understand them myself?

Yes, she was just a cat. She brought joy to our lives before she crossed the so-called “Rainbow Bridge.” Yes, we made the right choice. And yes, in the grand scheme of things, with wars raging, people suffering, a world pummeled by climate change, racism, violence, political uncertainty and more … well, this all seems kind of minor.

Yet, isn’t this minor brush with death the most important reminder of all? If death is the shadow of life we all ignore, maybe it’s good to occasionally recognize that death is there, and not something to be feared. Maybe it’s good to show my son the tears and fears, and hope that within his small, sensitive heart, he has learned that we are all doing the best we can.

I spent the next day setting aside extra time for the kids. We started decorating the house early for Christmas, singing songs and visiting the playground. Not simply to distract, but to remember that in this borrowed time of ours, every moment counts. And as we said goodbye to a pet, we are reminded of how fortunate we are to have such a loving family.

And together, even with the world seeming to succumb to its many ailments around us, we’ll keep focusing on the joys.

Remember pet photo: © Soloviova Liudmyla / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This one about a dad explaining the tragedy of the Boston Marathon bombing to his children comes from 2013.

I was leaving Target, the kids fast asleep in their car seats when I got a cell phone alert about the explosions. I quickly tuned into the local news radio station, figuring it would have the most up-to-date information.

As the day’s events unfolded, traditional media and social media had a hard time keeping up with the news. Confirmed reports. Unconfirmed reports. It was very hard to decipher what was true. I looked back at my two young children, soundlessly napping, and was glad that I wouldn’t have to explain this horror to them. Their preschool teacher certainly wouldn’t be bringing the subject up.

Unfortunately, it’s very likely that this will not be the last act of violence our country and children will see. So one day, my little ones will ask me what’s happening … and I don’t know exactly the best way of explaining tragedy to children. I believe I would try to provide as many hard facts gleaned from reputable sources without confusing or scaring them with hyperbole.

During this day, I spoke with other parents. Opinions on how to handle speaking with kids varied by the age of their child.

Many recommended talking about the brave men and women who ran toward the explosion to save other people.

“I think it’s best to shelter them from it,” said Mike, a father of a 5-year-old son in Northern Virginia. “It will just make them scared to go into public places.”

My wife worried our kids might overhear teachers or older kids at school talking about the attack. She said she would try to reassure them that we are safe and gently explain that “people were hurt but the police, firemen, and hospital people helped them” This would teach them to always remember that the “good guys” such as policemen, firemen, and EMT are there to protect them. They are the real superheroes!

Parents of older children felt they needed to be more direct.

“I simplify the facts to her level of comprehension and allow her to ask as many questions as she likes,” said Christine, a mother of an 8-year-old daughter and an infant son.

“We tell our daughter the truth,” said Suzanne, the mother of a 10-year-old who lives just outside of Philadelphia. She said it’s sad that it is becoming more commonplace to talk to her daughter about violence. However, she uses these teachable moments as a time to talk about being compassionate and empathetic toward others.

These kinds of tragic events stick with children for a long time. Especially, children with big imaginations. One of the most vivid memories of my childhood was watching the Challenger explode. They had wheeled TVs into the classrooms so we could watch the launch. Then, “IT” happened. I don’t remember exactly how it was explained to us, but I do remember being told not to be scared, to wait for the facts, and to pray for the families of the people who died.

While there are some really bad people in this world, I think if we focus on reassuring our kids that there are also many really good people then they will be all right.

Explaining tragedy to child photo: ©  Satjawat / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: The author of this post requested, and was granted, anonymity for this article to protect the identity of his family members. This post originally ran in 2018.

When I was a child and having one of my many disagreements with my mother, a retort from her would often be, “Wait until you’re a parent. Then you’ll understand.” Since becoming a dad myself several years ago, I’ve been thinking about that phrase a lot.

Like many contemporary dads, I am a different kind of parent than my father. Broadly speaking, I’m more present than he was in my childhood. The conventional wisdom is that social and cultural norms were different “back then.” We should cut, say a distant father, some slack because of this. Not me.

My father appeared to be a nice, gentle man. He never disciplined me, rarely even raised his voice. But then, I didn’t see much of him. He would leave the house for work before I woke. He would be back for dinner. He often worked weekends.

He never did the school drop-off or pickup routine. Never read me a bedtime story. Never came to a “parent’s evening” to meet my teachers or classmates’ mothers and fathers. He rarely spent time alone with me.

Now, as a father myself, I find this almost unthinkable.

A specific example of how little time my father and I spent together is this: I can count on one hand the movies my dad took me to see. On two fingers to be precise (ICYI: Bronco Billy and Airplane). I’ve been taking my daughter to see movies since she was 3 years old. I’ve lost count of how many hours we have shared together, side by side in a darkened theater.

To me, it boils down to this — I LOVE spending time with her, and sharing in those things she’s enthused about (like movies). My dad’s lack of this in my own childhood seemed at best lazy at the time. But it wasn’t simply that.

Distant father started as a prison dad

When I was a teenager, I discovered my father had been in prison (no one told me — I found some letters in the attic). He was incarcerated from when I was a baby until I was 4. He didn’t see me at all that entire time. In contrast, I spent this equivalent period with my daughter as a stay-at-home dad. When I think of the amazing time I spent with our daughter, the heartlessness of his subsequent decision to not spend time with me is amplified.

It gets worse.

Despite the prison time — for embezzlement — he somehow had a successful career as an office manager. He would often work late and on weekends. Ah, that explains why he spent so little time with me. He was too busy funding our house and home.

Nope. He was too busy having an affair.

An affair that began within a few years of him coming out of prison. An affair that lasted until I stumbled upon it when I was 19. He eventually co-owned the property she lived in. He was living a fantasy second life there, where he didn’t have a family to live with.

There’s a sucker punch. He took out his mortgage with her in my name.

This all came to light when I opened a piece of mail I thought was addressed to me (my father and I have the same first initial). The letter turned out to be about the property he owned with her. I still remember the sarcastic “thank you” he repeatedly directed at me while my mother screamed at him.

The full scale of his betrayal only came to light a few years ago, when he randomly blurted out a confession to my mother (they’re still together) while reacting to a melodramatic plot on a TV drama.

His sorry behavior is alien to me. Abhorrent. I’m supposed to dismiss this as “things were different back then”? No.

I haven’t confronted him about any of it — the lies, the betrayal, his lack of interest in my childhood. He has a heart condition, and I can’t trust myself to not explode at him. But I can barely stand to be around him, and I do my best to avoid speaking to him.

So I simply seethe with internal anger whenever I think of this whole sorry scenario. Fuck that guy. Never be that guy. Never be ANYTHING like that guy. You’re a good dad, I tell myself. That guy is an asshole.

Then I think about my daughter. My amazing daughter. Who I love and adore. And who will never – ever – have a father like that.

Photo: Trym Nilsen on Unsplash

Wisdom can be found wherever you are willing to let it in.

Sounds like a fortune cookie, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I think I made it up – feel free to quote me or tweet it. Even if I didn’t make it up, it’s something I believe very much. Another time when this credo was proven correct recently when I learned the secret is nothing.

One of my sons recently wanted to see the first Kung Fu Panda movie again, so we took the movie out of the library. He even asked me to join him since I had never seen the movie. Bonding time – why not?

Here’s a summary for the uninitiated. For those who know the movie, skip to the next paragraph.

A panda, Po, is chosen to be the Dragon Warrior, the ultimate kung fu warrior. The choice was surprising because up to that point, Po had been working in his father’s noodle restaurant. On top of that, he was big, clumsy, and clueless in the ways of kung fu. Those who had been trained and were excellent at kung fu were disappointed at not being chosen and doubtful that Po was the chosen one. There’s a desperate need for the Dragon Warrior because an evil warrior has escaped prison and is headed toward the town looking to take revenge. Ultimately, Po trains and proves his mettle by defeating the evil warrior and saving the town.

The movie was pleasant enough and had some nice typical child-friendly themes and moments. There is the underdog from humble beginnings who overcomes and ultimately becomes the hero. Before he takes his place as a hero, a problem arises that must be overcome.

Po has earned the title of Dragon Warrior and was given the ancient scroll which he was supposed to understand due to his position. However, the scroll is empty, blank. There was no wisdom to impart. The only thing Po saw was his own reflection. Maybe the whole idea of a warrior was a hoax as well.

Po, dejected, turns back and goes to his father. Sensing his son’s mood, Po’s father tells him the secret to his noodles: “The secret is … nothing.” He explains that something becomes special if people truly believe that it is.

From there, Po is revived. He recognizes the message of the scroll about believing in himself, and he becomes the hero that he was destined to be.

Could that be true of everything? Something or someone becomes special only if a person truly believes that it is. The secret is nothing. There is no secret.

We spend our lives looking, chasing, and seeking. For what? For understanding, for knowledge, for joy.

I take so much for granted including the health of my family and myself. Yet, is there anything more precious than that? If I recognized how special each blessing was, how rich, how content, how happy would I be?

The idea of believing in yourself and appreciating your blessings is not a new one. I suspect every faith and belief system includes some sort of call to believe.

However, despite the simplicity, it’s hard to do. I suspect we’d be more successful if we kept in mind that the secret is nothing.

I have a lot to learn. I might need to watch the other Kung Fu Panda movies. I need more knowledge and wisdom.

A version of this first appeared on Me, Myself and Kids. Photo: © fran_kie / Adobe Stock.