Fathers and Sons…and Fathers Again.

I’ve never met a man who hasn’t been profoundly affected by his own father (though I’ve met many who’ve never recognized it). I am no different.

As I write this entry, I am sailing across the Strait of Georgia from Vancouver to Vancouver Island; my father is having anything from a triple to a quintuple bypass tomorrow morning in Victoria.

I’m long past the age where my parents are starting to appear mortal. Between my parents (and their various spouses) there have been hip transplants, cancers, surgeries and several strokes. It isn’t like I’ve never pondered the prospect of losing one or both of my parents.

I don’t anticipate anything going wrong with my dads operation tomorrow, but still, I can’t help but be reflective. My father is a good man, who like the rest of us, has had his fair share of struggles. He was on the wrong end of two divorces, seemed to have more career setbacks than successes, and saw way less of his four children than he would have liked. He has his passions, too: for Joseph Campbell, Carl Jung and New Physics. For several years he has been working on a book which he feels can change the world. I admire his ambition.

I have regrets in my relationship with my father as I know he has with me. Most revolve around the time (or lack thereof) we spent together. And when we were with each other my father often seemed lost in thought. My dad would always find time to throw a ball or play a game of chess if I asked him, but he was never one to seek that engagement with me.

It’s no surprise then that as a father I seek out unsolicited activity time with my boys and am committed to being fully present to them when we are together. Even when I’m working, I find ways to have them work along with me. It’s no coincidence that my business revolves around helping absent, workaholic dads better connect with their kids.

In many ways, the mistakes our fathers made can be the greatest gifts they ever gave us. This isn’t to beat up on fathers by any means. This is borne from a sense of optimism that fathers and men are slowly evolving, and that awareness is the next step in that process. I certainly hope my sons will one day be able to learn from my countless parenting gaffes and become better fathers as a result. I want to know that my scaring errors won’t be in vain. Don’t we all?

I know my father feels very deeply that there are no accidents—that everything happens for a reason. As he goes over the tally sheet I hope he takes great comfort in knowing that I am a better father for having him as a father.

This past June, he sent me a Father’s Day card. In it he wrote, “You are the best dad I’ve ever known.”

It would appear he recognizes that his mistakes were not in vain.

Take a time out!

I was reading a great post from Jeremy Adam Smith over at his blog, Daddy Dialectic. It had to do with dads, their sons and the sometimes painful dance that they do around playing sports---in this case, hockey.

It got me to thinking about my own relationship between sports, my father and me. I played just about every game under the sun (ironically for a Canadian kid) other than hockey. I excelled at some, floundered at others, and mainly just tried to have fun playing the rest. My father rarely got to see me play anything. I lived primarily with my mother, and dad lived too far away to come to games. Like many fathers and sons, sports became a talking point, and it was my dad who took me to my first professional baseball, football and basketball games.

When I was ten, our little league team went undefeated. I had been a steady-if-not-flashy important part of the team, and had at least one hit in every game we played. My dad drove the seven hours to see our semi-final, and hopefully, final game. This was the first time he’d ever seen me play.

Well, we won both the semi-final and the championship, but I didn’t get one hit. I think I had more strike outs in those two games than I had all season. After each one I looked to my dad. To this day, I am still grateful to my coach who recognized how desperately I was trying to please my father, and who, in front of me, told my dad how I was a real leader and contributor on the team.

My dad was never a boisterous or pushy sports parent. He never drove me to succeed nor did he ever seem disappointed by any failures on the field. Yet I was still so desperate to impress him—to make him proud. 

I once asked retired Major Leaguer, JT Snow, if he pushed his son harder because he himself had played professional baseball. “No,” he said immediately. He said if anything, he pushed his son less because he knows how much pressure a kid can be under if he shows major league potential. “After the game, give him a hug, tell him you love him and take him for ice cream.”

Keep that in mind if your children play sports. They care more about impressing you than anyone else: team mates, coaches, even scouts. Conversely, they will agonize if they feel they have let you down (which, statistically, will happen more times than not.) If they are going to defy the odds and make it to the pros, it isn’t going to be because you barked at them all game long. By having no vested interest in the outcome of the game, and by loving them just for being them, you will be helping to create an environment where your child can thrive—whether they ever win a game or not.