I’ve come to realize that every father will experience what was for me, my worst day. I remember the day when I experienced it with my own father. I was somewhere in my teens. We were debating something and decided to settle the score by looking the answer up somewhere.
Guess what?
I was right.
The guy who I thought knew everything. The one who had the genius IQ. The man who built a successful business. The one who opined on everything and yelled whenever he wanted to, was wrong.
Outsmarted by his son, the idiot.
His dream was perfect: to play in the NBA. It’s good to have dreams. I have them to this day.
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I realized at this very moment my Dad wasn’t perfect, and didn’t know everything. I would spend most of the rest of my life trying to put distance between us. My desire—to leave him in the dust.
After all, I was right.
Over time, I would learn I was right about a lot of things. I also found he was wrong about a lot of things. During this period, I learned he wasn’t perfect and I wasn’t stupid.
We have three sons in their late teens and early twenties. They have arrived at the “Dad doesn’t know everything” destination.
I remember my worst day.
One of our sons was a very good basketball player as a boy. His dream was perfect: to play in the NBA. It’s good to have dreams. I have them to this day.
I entered his room and sat on the bed. I was certain I was about to break his heart.
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As he aged it became evident he wasn’t going to be very tall. I never thought my five foot eight inch height would be a barrier for him. I talked to the pediatrician. He confirmed the obvious. We discussed how to break the news to my son that he should have his dream but also to have a few others.
I did some research and developed a story. Let’s see, there are roughly three hundred million people in the country. Also, there are about three hundred pro players. Therefore, you have to be one in a million. I added the fact that you can count on one hand the number of players under six feet. And on and on I went.
The time came, I was nervous. I entered his room and sat on the bed. I was certain I was about to break his heart. The thousands of hours he put in on the court. The hundreds of hours his Mom put in driving him from tournament to tournament. The time, money and effort. His future and my credibility with him would be washed down the drain of disappointment and submerged forever.
We have two more sons behind him. What kind of message would I be signaling to them? In one conversation on a sunny, summer day, I would be destroying a whole family and their dreams. The guy who I thought, they thought, knew everything was about to show his son just how smart his Dad is.
I thought perhaps I should just forget it and hope it all cleared up on its own. That’s it, hide from the issue. My issue.
I was spiraling.
I took a deep breath and started to talk. I got about a minute in and my son raised his hand and said. “Dad I know I have no chance of playing in the NBA. I doubt I will play in college either.”
We want to hang on to them forever, just kind of freeze them in a time when they were fun and looked up to us.
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That was it. He looked at me like I had three eyes and shook his head. He had come to the conclusion on his own. He was fifteen years old.
I realized at that moment what an idiot I was and how smart he was. I also realized he knew I wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box. I had come full circle.
Being adored and an authority figure for our kids only lasts for so long. They grow up and assimilate their own experiences into how they view the world. They form conclusions that may not be consistent with ours. They experience their own lives through a lens only they can see through.
We want to hang on to them forever, just kind of freeze them in a time when they were fun and looked up to us. We all try to do the impossible which only heightens our disappointment when we realize we can’t. This confirms our worst day, if you are a Dad you will have it.
Photo: Getty Images
There was a day when I’d have to ratchet back when skating with my son, reaching my hand out to help him back up, asking if he was ok.
Then I blinked, and I was the one on the ice being picked up, being asked if I was ok.
They do it physically, they do it mentally.
Happy days, good times!
..and condolences RE your sister. To have it in your bio speaks volumes as to a man’s ability to love. Article was good, but that struck a deeper chord.
Cool, I will take it DJ. CF
Thanks, Chris. I’m going through this now with my 15-year-old son. He’s turning into a gear head, and I love it, but I just don’t know that much about cars. The funny thing is he knows that and talks to me like he’s trying hard not to make me look and feel stupid. It’s an interesting dynamic. I love this kid and love watching him grow to be a man.
Hi Steve, I have that goingon with my 18 year old. I am the son of a mechanic. My Dad told me in in high school that I should go to college because I couldnt turn a screwdriver. He was right on that one.
Thanks for sharing, Chris.
Happy to Kyle and thanks for the support. CF
That was a very good day…happens to dads and daughters as well.. A self aware kid…the best…and…you really don’t want to hang onto them and freeze them in time. The good stuff happens when they begin to convince you that you are wrong about some things and you know they are right..But, I suspect you know all that stuff..
Good point, it means they are maturing.
I’m a father of one boy, age 5. I enjoyed your article and this is something that I’ve thought about and that I dread; the fact that it appears to be a universal aspect of fatherhood scares me because I know that I can’t escape it.
You are right Kevin. I have don’t it four times. Once with my father and three times my our sons. I can’t say I have become any better at it. I can say there is a sense of relief that it is over. That said, now there are new hurdles and challenges. Good luck to you. Best, CF
Christian – another great read and great lesson for everyone. Thanks – I realty enjoyed the article
Thank You, Russ.
Hi,
Nice article, well written and very recognisable.
My Masterplan (up until now) as a father is twofold:
1 to have made mistakes and admitted them a long time before the Dark Ages of late puberty
2 to switch (forcefully switch) mental frame : I now consider my sons as a kind of co-students, that I share my house with. They are not behaving, but hey, co-students never do.
So far so good, no real ‘this is the big one’ father moment yet.
It is not over yet, however….
Good point, they cant lose if you are thinking about it in my book. As long as we proactively work on getting better it cant help but to have a positive impact. Cheers
I was once told don’t tell me what you can’t do. Tell me what you can do. This is a tough lesson to learn when talking to your own kids. I’ve struggled with the same thing. Who am I to tell you what you can’t do. I should be helping you do what you can do!
Yea it is a conflict . I remember thinking about Spud Webb who was an NBA player and 5 feet 7 inches tall. Who the hell was I to tell my son he wasn’t going to be tall enough.
As much as I can appreciate this piece, I highly doubt it’s your worst day as a father! I remember figuring out that my dad was flawed and how painful it was to me. I also remember thinking that he still knew a lot and had plenty to share. I’m guessing your boys will continue to come to you for guidance – probably about stuff they know you’re really familiar with… but maybe not basketball.
We’ll see, that’s one of the fun things about all of us growing up together Sarah.