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.

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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.

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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.