10 Lessons I’m Teaching My Son
That I Had to Learn the Hard Way
At 42 years old, I’ve learned most things the hard way.
Not because I was reckless, but because I didn’t grow up with a roadmap.
My parents loved me in the ways they knew how. They survived their own battles that I’ll never fully understand. For that, I respect them deeply.
But when it comes to emotional structure, intentional presence, and legacy-building fatherhood, those tools weren’t passed down. I had to forge them on my own. Through mistakes, heartache, and the occasional embarrassment.
Now I have a son. Ford is five months old today. With every heartbeat, every sleepy sigh against my chest, I know that this is the most important thing I will ever do.
I’ve led teams. I’ve fought wars. I’ve built companies. I’ve mentored others through the darkest parts of their journey. But nothing carries the weight or meaning of raising a good man.
These lessons didn’t come from my childhood. They’re the product of a lifetime spent observing what wasn’t there and choosing what must be.
This is the father I’m becoming.
These are the standards Ford will grow up with.
This is the start of a new legacy.
1. Father first, not friend.
I’m not here for Ford to like, I’m here for him to trust.
And he will be loved, fully, fiercely, and without condition.
Friendship might come later. But first, he needs a protector. A guide. A father with a backbone and a soft heart. I’m not here to be popular. I’m here to shape his character.
2. Truth lives here.
No “I already know the answer” tricks. No mind games.
Ford will grow up in a home where honesty is lived.
Easy truth, hard truth, inconvenient truth: it’s all welcome here.
He’ll learn to tell the truth even when it leads to consequences, because character isn’t about comfort. It’s about staying anchored to who you are, no matter the cost.
3. United front. Always.
Ford will never see division between me and Jenelle. We are a team.
Decisions are made together. Disagreements are worked out behind closed doors.
When a child sees stability, they become stable.
And we’ll teach him that, too, how to lead with integrity.
Whether it’s at home, in the boardroom, or on a team, disagreement belongs in private.
In public, we show a united front. That’s respect. That’s discipline. That’s how leaders operate.
4. You can make money. You can make excuses. But you can’t make time.
Time is my most valuable currency, and I’m spending it on him.
He’ll never wonder where he falls on my priority list. He is the priority.
Email can wait. Ego can wait. Ford can’t.
5. The Four Chairs Rule.
Someday soon, our living room will have four chairs, and no screens. We’ll talk. Life. Truth. Confusion. About things that matter.
He’ll learn to speak clearly, listen fully, and think critically.
And he’ll never be punished for asking a hard question.
6. Blood first, but character always.
Ford will know that family isn’t just about genetics, but integrity, loyalty, and how you show up. We stick together. We protect each other. And we don’t tear each other down for anyone’s entertainment. Family means something in this house.
7. If you start it, you finish it.
You want to play baseball? Great. You finish the season.
You pick up guitar? You practice through the hard parts.
Grit isn’t born, it’s trained, and it is a byproduct of pushing through the hard stuff.
I’ll teach him how to choose commitments carefully, and how to honor them completely.
8. Answer the damn phone.
When your people call, you pick up.
If Ford needs me, I’ll answer. Always.
Love isn’t something you say. It’s how quickly you respond when your family reaches out.
9. You’re not a prince. You’re a protector.
I won’t raise him to believe the world owes him anything.
He must be capable.
He’ll learn to hold doors, defend the vulnerable, and walk into responsibility without flinching.
Not entitled; entrusted.
10. Hug like it matters.
I wasn’t raised with hugs that lingered. I had to learn the power of real embrace later in life. But Ford? He’s going to grow up knowing what safety feels like in his father’s arms. No shame. No “man up.” Just love, pressed into his spirit. Every hug will tell him: You are loved. You are safe. You are enough.
I didn’t grow up with these lessons.
But I damn sure will pass them down.
This is what it means to break a cycle. To build a legacy.
To every parent out there who’s reading this; starting fresh, or simply choosing better, I’m with you.
And to Ford:
Someday you’ll read this. Maybe when you’re 8. Maybe when you’re 28.
When you do, I hope you’ll know this:
Your dad took everything he was given; good, bad, missing, and hard, and built something stronger.
I raised you with intention. With love. And with the belief that you were always worth the effort.