“Every father should remember one day his son will follow his example, not his advice.”
Charles Kettering
Recently, I spent an afternoon assembling a playground toy for my sons.
Now, I’m not saying I’m bad at assembling things, but let’s just say the manufacturer could’ve included a small therapist with the instruction manual. Piece by piece, hesitation after hesitation, I fumbled my way through what can only be described as a character-building experience.
My four-year-old stood by the entire time—arms crossed, head cocked, narrating the process like a tiny, judgmental sports commentator. Every few minutes he’d ask, “Is it done yet?” or offer feedback like, “That doesn’t look right.” The boy has incredible endurance for doubt.
And honestly? I get it. I’m the same way.
When I look at my boys, I realize much assembly is still required—on both sides of the equation. I’m trying to build them into men, yes, but half the time it feels like they’re the ones tightening the bolts on me.
Some days I’m confident, productive, wise. Other days, I’m holding a half-finished emotional seesaw, realizing I’ve installed the instructions upside down.
I’m slowly building my fatherhood stamina. Sometimes I hit the wall and think, That’s it. I’m done. Call tech support. But then the second wind comes—a bedtime hug, a shared laugh, that quiet little spark of wonder when they see me fixing something instead of giving up.
And in those moments, I remember: the point isn’t to get it perfect. It’s to keep showing up with the wrench in your hand and the willingness to try again.
Fatherhood, like assembly, comes with extra parts you don’t remember ordering—and that’s okay.
The masterpiece isn’t the finished toy. It’s the process of building something together.
