On Fathers, Feedback, and the Quiet Example

I’ve been thinking a lot about fathers lately.

Not just the word, but the role. The meaning. The weight. The impact on society. Both presence and absence—especially absence, which may be more damaging than presence is appreciated. Because when a father is there, really there, it’s easy to overlook. When he’s not, it echoes.

There’s a quiet way fatherhood shapes us—and an even quieter way it gets passed down. Through generations, through offhand comments, through the things we remember years later that no one thought we were listening to.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand any of that. I was 28 when I had Ben. I look at photos now and I’m struck by how young I looked. The truth is, I was young. I thought being a father meant showing up when needed. Protecting. Providing. And sure—it does. But that’s just the scaffolding.

The real stuff—the stuff that sticks—comes in the pauses. The questions. The feedback. The example.

I was lucky. I got fired at just the right time. It gave me the space to coach my kids in hockey. Fifteen combined seasons with them. That wasn’t just good timing. That was a

I’ve had good men in my life. Bosses who coached instead of commanded. Mentors who asked how I was doing before asking for a status update. Guys who gave kindness before it was earned. And above all, my own dad, who never wavered in his commitment to his family or to me. He taught me how to be consistent. How to work. How to be there, no matter what.

And now, with two boys of my own—18 and 20—I’m feeling the weight of fatherhood more acutely than ever. Because you don’t really understand fatherhood until you see the clock running out on your own role as the daily presence. Until you realize that “raising them” is becoming “watching them rise.”

The hardest part? Letting go of the illusion that you’re still steering. At some point, you’re not the driver anymore. You’re the guardrail. You’re the voice they hear in their head when things go wrong—or when they go right and they’re wondering who to call. You’re not there to catch them every time. You’re there to have made them strong enough to catch themselves.

Fathers aren’t perfect. We’re inconsistent. We’re tired. We say the wrong thing and we hold on too tight. But we try to show up. We teach. We listen, even when we don’t understand. We stay, even when it’s hard.

So today, on Father’s Day, here’s to the dads:

• The ones who gave feedback when it was easier to stay quiet.

• The ones who led by example instead of authority.

• The ones who made us better.

• And the ones we’re still trying to become.

Because the truth is, being a father isn’t about being right—it’s about being there.

And if you’re doing that, you’re doing just fine.

Happy Father’s Day.

– DRW