Why who you’re raising shapes what kind of man you become.
When I first became a dad, I didn’t know how much it would change me. I thought I’d be shaping a small human—teaching them, guiding them, showing up the way a dad should. What I didn’t realize was how much my kids would be shaping me right back.
Raising a boy cracked open one part of me. Raising girls cracked open something else entirely.
With my son, I see pieces of myself—both the parts I like and the ones I’ve had to work through. The way he moves through the world, the way he holds his emotions, the way he watches me for cues on what’s okay to feel out loud. It’s a mirror I didn’t ask for, but one I’ve learned to appreciate. And yeah, sometimes it’s confronting. Because I know what boys are told about being tough, being in control, being fine. And I also know how limiting that can become later.
Then came my daughters. And they completely reshaped how I think about presence, softness, and strength. With them, I feel the urgency of modeling a different kind of masculinity. Not the stoic, overworked, emotionally unavailable version I grew up around—but the kind that can hold space, that’s attentive, that’s human. They’ve made me more patient, more curious, and honestly, more accountable.
What I’m realizing is that being a “girl dad” or “boy dad” isn’t about pink or blue, tea parties or trucks. It’s about how your kids invite different versions of you to the surface. And whether you’re willing to meet those versions honestly.
I don’t have a clean formula for what kind of dad I’m supposed to be. But I know this: I want to be someone my kids feel safe with. I want them to see me work hard, yes—but also rest. I want them to see me try, fail, apologize, grow. I want them to hear me say “I love you” when it’s easy and when it’s not.
And I don’t want to do it in a vacuum.
That’s why I keep circling back to the need for spaces like Founding Fathers Club. Not because I have it all figured out, but because I don’t. Because sometimes I need to be around other dads who are also navigating this messy, meaningful, full-contact version of fatherhood. Other men who aren’t afraid to talk about identity, about emotional labor, about what kind of legacy we’re really trying to leave behind.
There’s no blueprint for the dad I’m trying to become—but I’ve started building one, piece by piece. And who I’m raising is shaping that blueprint every day.