Things Fatherhood Taught Me About Coaching

I wrote this in 2014, when my son was 2, and I was immersed in the wonders of what it meant to be a Father. I find evolution in some of the things I express here, but it articulates a healthy journey and connection of the multiple roles we play.

One of the best parts of the journey of fatherhood are the daily revelations and realizations about what it takes to lead a young one effectively. I’m not sure any of us are ready to be fathers, until is thrust upon us, and it is likely the most important process of learning by doing.

The following are a list of things I have learned from my son, or ideas/values I previously held that he has reinforced/reminded me of. Specifically, these are the ways that the best practices of fatherhood have influenced my coaching. I believe these ideas, as I reflect on them, equip me to better lead my team.

In times of adversity, I have to have unwavering belief in him.

Anyone who has a toddler will attest to the fact that when they fall, they will largely react based on the body language and facial expression that they see in their parent. When my son falls (which, having inherited my clumsiness, he does often) the amount of tears produced are directly proportional to my reaction. If I believe he can be tough, and can instill his belief that he can conquer his pain, he will do so. If I flinch, display fear or a lack of faith, he will follow suit.

A day of successful parenting can be completely undone  by a lapse in judgement and emotional outburst.

I can guide him all day. I can discipline accordingly, deescalate situations, talk him through his terrible two’s. I can do so, and 1 poor reaction when he frustrates me can undo all of the investment I have put in to that point. One moment of giving in to my emotions, one moment of frustration bubbling to the surface, of displaying a lack of self control, and all of the positive work of the day can be undone in seconds.

He craves structure, guidance, and yes, discipline.

The thing about being a toddler is that their is something intuitive within them that wants guidance. My son functions much better with a schedule and structure. We use timeouts in our home, and our son will actually now put himself on timeout, or request a timeout, when he starts to spiral out of control emotionally. I would contend it’s because he craves assistance in abiding by his internal moral compass, but needs some external assistance to achieve who he wants to be. Maybe that’s over thinking the instincts of a toddler, but I would contend we all desire to be people of great character, and that such a desire is instinctual, but require assistance from others. I see this at my son, even at his age, and I think it’s something we are born with.

If I am insincere, he sees right through me.

I can’t fake it. My son will know. If I am not genuinely invested when he wants to share an activity with me, he will see through it. He will get less enjoyment out of it. My son loves legos, and he loves basketball. When he desires for me to participate in an activity with me, he almost always chooses one of these two things. I believe he chooses these because I genuinely enjoy these activities. If I am not genuinely invested in the an activity when I play with him, he will know it.

He has to know I’ll catch him when he jumps.

My son loves jumping off of stuff. His bed, the couch, counters, the changing table. We count to 3, and he jumps fearlessly, with the knowledge I’ll catch him, and we will laugh and experience the joy of conquering fear together. He has to know I will catch him when he attempts something new. He has to know I’ll help keep him from painful failure, that I am there with waiting arms to keep him from harm, to support him in new endeavors, to encourage risk taking, to create an environment in which failure is not a bad result.

If I don’t invest love, devotion, and interest in him, I can’t ask anything of him.

My son is a human being. He’s not interested in being a robot. He’s not interested in me demanding production out of him. He’s interested in my love and care, in my investing into him, in my belief in him. When I choose to do these things, I can then ask him to be a young man who is respectful, selfless, compassionate, and caring. But until I invest those things in him, I can’t ask him to grow or mature. Until I model it, I can’t demand it. Until I show I love him precisely as he is, and care about all facets of his life, I can’t ask him to grow or mature. Otherwise, I have embraced a reductionist perspective of the human experience, a belief that his only worth is based on growth, when all he craves is the affirmation that he has value as he was created, and because of that affirmation, he is willing to grow. Without that affirmation and investment, I have unwittingly placed limits on the amount of growth that can occur.