How My Child’s Bedtime Question Redefined My Understanding of Love, Parenting, Connection, and What Gives Life Meaning

A Father’s Journey Into Stoic Parenting — How One Bedtime Question Transformed My View of Love, Connection, and Raising Resilient Kids

This is Part 5 of a now 5-part series on incorporating Stoic principles into my and my son’s lives. Each post explores one of the core Stoic virtues — this final reflection centers on Connection, the roots that keep the virtues alive and the wings that carry them into the world.

Love is more than words.
Connection is how love becomes real — roots that nourish us, wings that let us grow.


The Roots and Wings of Connection

When I tell my son I love him, sometimes he pauses. One night, when he was younger, he looked up at me and asked, “What does that even mean?”

It stopped me in my tracks. Adults throw around “I love you” all the time, but for a child, those words require clarity. So, I told him: “It means I care about you, and I want the very best for you.”

He nodded. And I’ve returned to that definition ever since. Because love — real love — is more than a feeling. It’s a way of living.

The Stoics called this oikeiôsis — the natural widening of care. I picture it as roots and wings:

  • Roots hold us steady — first in ourselves, then in family, then in those closest to us.
  • Wings carry us outward — to friends, community, and eventually to all of humanity and the natural world.

Roots give us nourishment. Wings give us possibility. Both are needed if the virtues are to thrive.


The Parent’s Paradox

As parents, we often hear that love means sacrifice — giving all of ourselves to our children. And yes, in many ways we do sacrifice. But real love doesn’t come from a parent who is constantly running on empty.

It comes from a parent who has cared for themselves enough to have something true to give. By tending to our own roots — our minds, bodies, and hearts — we show our children that love is strongest when it flows from fullness, not exhaustion.


A Caution About Connection

Not every connection nourishes. Some soil is thin or poisoned. Some wings are clipped by those who wish to control rather than care. I am reminded that not every bond is healthy. Some connections weaken us, leaving us drained or diminished. Yet even then, a quiet strength within us often remains — roots that still hold, wings that still long to spread.

True connection is not about staying tied to what harms us. It’s about choosing the soil and the sky that let us grow. We need to teach our children to not only reach out and open up, but to connect wisely to those who will nourish them…


The Virtues in Roots and Wings

The Stoics taught four cardinal virtues. Each one lives when it is rooted in care and lifted by connection:

  • Wisdom: Knowing what matters and where our control ends. I learned this in the early mornings — a glass of water in my hand, my son already on the couch with his iPad. I couldn’t control his mood or every choice, but I could control how I showed up. When I chose presence over pressure and rhythm over rigidity, the morning softened. Wisdom roots us in what we can truly influence and lets the rest go.
  • Courage: Acting rightly even when afraid. One night after a school event, the dark felt bigger than usual. I asked my son to stay close — not to scare him, but to keep him aware, safe. Later, he said, “Kids are pretty helpless.” I told him courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the choice to take the braver step anyway. Courage is the lift of the wings — steady, quiet, strong.
  • Justice: Doing what’s right, especially when no one is watching. Fairness is the compass; justice is the way we walk with it. It’s the small daily choices — keeping our word, owning our mistakes, treating people with respect — that build trust. Justice stretches our wings into the lives of others and keeps our roots intertwined with integrity.
  • Temperance: Knowing when enough is enough. I learned this through the “just one more” bedtime battles — one more story, one more snack, one more video. The easy path was to give in. Real love was holding the line with presence and care, teaching that limits are protection, not punishment. Temperance balances our roots, keeping us grounded, and our wings, giving us guidance — setting boundaries that let us grow strong and free.

And here’s the truth I’ve come to see as a father: none of these virtues stand alone. They only live and breathe when they are nourished by roots and carried by wings — when connection gives them purpose. Without connection to others, these virtues are brittle rules. With connection, they become love in action, woven into how we live and how we raise our children.


A Tool for Both of Us

At night, or in a quiet moment, pause and ask:

  1. What rooted me today? (What strengthened me in body, mind, or heart?)
  2. “Who was in my circle today? Who did I care for? Who cared for me?”
  3. How did I help another take flight? (Where did I encourage, include, or lift someone else?)
  4. And then widen it — just a little.

Reach out. Show kindness. Notice someone you might not have before.

Because every time you stretch the circle, life grows a little fuller.


Try This Tomorrow

For You: Notice one moment where you feel the pull to over-give or run on empty. Pause, and choose one small act of self-care instead — a breath, a walk, a kind word to yourself. Protect your roots.

Together: Ask your child who or what made them feel strong or cared for today — their roots. Then ask who they encouraged or lifted up — their wings. Share your own answers. Show them how connection moves in both directions.


Final Thought

When I say “I love you” to my son, I want him to feel it as both roots that nourish him and wings that lift him — steady enough to hold him, strong enough to let him fly, always giving him the courage to grow.

That’s the lesson I want him to carry as he grows: love is the roots and wings that hold everything together. Life is about who we’re connected to, how we draw strength from them, and how we lift them up in return.

Call to Action

If this reflection spoke to you, take it with you into tomorrow. Share it with another parent, a friend, or even with your child. Begin the conversation: What are your roots? Who are your wings?


Connection deepens when we name it, nurture it, and live it out loud. That’s how we build lives — and families — that hold steady and help each other soar.

The Pause That Changed Everything: When My Son’s Anger Wasn’t About Me

We were rushing out the door for a track meet when I ran back inside to grab a couple of warm shirts. At the last meet, it had rained and the temperature dropped 15 degrees. Everyone else had sweatshirts and raincoats—except for me, my son, and a few other parents who hadn’t thought to check the forecast. This time, I wanted to be prepared.

On the way home, my son mentioned that it was a good thing I had put the shirt he didn’t want to wear back in the house, like he thought he had told me. I told him I didn’t hear him say that and hadn’t put the shirt back—I had brought it with us, just in case. I explained that I could put it away once we got home.

That’s when he got upset. Not just annoyed—he lost it. He yelled at me for bringing the shirt he didn’t want. I had thought I was being helpful, but to him, it felt like I hadn’t listened. He started crying and yelling:

“You never listen to me!”

It stung. I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to say, “I was just trying to help.”
But I didn’t.

Later that evening, he came barreling out of the bathroom, furious again.

“Don’t ever put the toothpaste there again!”

This time, I knew I hadn’t touched the toothpaste. I tried to explain that I use a different kind, that it must’ve been someone else. But the more I talked, the angrier he got.

So I stopped.

I knelt down, put my hand gently on his shoulder, and asked, “Are you OK?”
Then I added softly, “You’ve been getting really angry with me lately. Is everything OK?”

And just like that, he softened.

His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed. He listened while I explained about the toothpaste. I didn’t move his, and then I helped him open the tube and let him squeeze it onto his toothbrush himself.

No lecture. No power struggle. Just presence.


What I’m Learning as a Dad

Kids lash out. It doesn’t mean they’re bad. It doesn’t mean we’ve failed. And it doesn’t always mean we should push back.

Sometimes the outburst isn’t about the shirt or the toothpaste. Sometimes it’s about a hard day, a tired body, or feelings they can’t yet name.
Sometimes, what they need most is a dad who pauses. Who listens. Who sees through the storm.


The Power of the Pause

That moment reminded me: connection comes before correction. Every time.
And when I choose curiosity over control, I get to be more than just a rule-enforcer; I get to be a safe place.

A place where my son can be angry and still be loved.
Where he can make mistakes and still be met with grace.
Where he can be small and growing and full of emotions, and still be seen.

That’s the kind of dad I’m learning to be.
One pause at a time.

If this landed with you, share it with someone who’s parenting through the hard moments. Let’s remind each other: presence matters.