I’ve always loved a really good story. Relationship stories especially—they have such a personal flair. The charming back-and-forth of uncertainty mixed with anticipation is so delicious when told well by a gifted storyteller. Listening to one of those stories, you don’t just hear it—you feel it.
I don’t know if I have that kind of story. While things have turned out well, I remain uncertain about the steps between the beginning and now. I don’t really know how I got here.
I’m married—happily so—to a woman who brings me a deep and profound sense of joy. And yet, I’ve always found relationships exceedingly strange. I never quite understood how a person goes from watching episodes of The Office to raising children together. The steps in that transformation have always felt unclear to me—despite having taken them.
Now, adding to that mystery, I find myself responsible for three souls who will one day walk that same bewildering road. Knowing how confusing life has been for me, I try to stay aware of the challenges of the modern world. I hope, in my own imperfect way, to offer some guidance as they embark—unknowingly—on a journey full of shifting expectations and uncertain rules.
More than anything, I want them to have a really good story of their own—the kind of romantic edifice they can build their lives around.
I think fondly of progressive ideas. Morality aside, I believe social conformity should be light. People should be free to diverge from what’s considered “normal.” And yet, we are bombarded with conflicting messages. Women are handed goals that often clash with their desires and priorities. Men are given a confusing palette of expectations, many of them contradictory. The result is often a kind of emotional tailspin—for someone who just wants to share a hamburger and watch a movie with someone they love.
There are basic truths about male and female character that we ought to acknowledge. When I had a daughter, I was determined not to shape her into something garishly feminine. And yet, for her first Christmas, my mother bought her a doll. I was bothered—until I reminded myself that she might one day give birth, and that some identification with children might serve her well. I’ve encouraged her to see the beauty in motherhood, but I’ve also made it clear: that road is hers to choose—or not.
Boys, on the other hand, tend toward violence. Also, the sky is blue—another observation of the obvious. When my second son was born, he and his brother took to wrestling constantly. My wife expressed concern. I told her, “That’s what boys do.” My daughter joins in now too, but their appetite for roughhousing far exceeds hers. So I’ve had to talk with my sons about violence—both the kind they might express and the kind they might encounter.
I take a passive stance on violence—meaning, it should be avoided vigorously. Still, I’ve watched both my sons surpass their mother in strength. I coach them constantly on the responsibility that comes with that power. My daughter, influenced by media, once told me she didn’t need a man to protect her. I gently reminded her that nature has made men, on average, bigger, stronger, and faster. She may not need a man—but ignoring the potential benefit of one is shortsighted.
I’ve tried to pass on the value of family—its importance, its messiness, and the hope that it might lead them one day to children of their own. I’ve offered them faith, hoping it will instill kindness, forgiveness, and universal compassion. I’ve emphasized the necessity of personal growth—and there’s no better crash course in growth than raising another human being.
I’ve tried to model humility—occasionally yielding my authority to affirm their agency. I’ve defended their mother when necessary, showing that a man’s first duty is to protect his partner. I’ve taught them that love begins, above all else, in friendship. They see my wife and me laugh, play, and giggle. I’ve offered myself as a guide—someone who understands people and wants to help them do the same.
But I’m also aware that my role in their lives must be permitted. It cannot be demanded. It must be earned.
So I try—daily—to earn their trust, in the hope that when they step out to stake their place in this world, they’ll do so with wisdom: the ability to recognize peace in others, and the discernment to choose partners worth working hard for.
There are no easy answers in life. But pretending I have nothing to offer would be a lie.
I’ve known them since they came screaming into this world. I’ve been present for every moment since. I am the proud owner of a healthy marriage.
Bring on the future.
My kids will be ready.
…I hope.
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