So Many Ways to Screw Up

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. The day didn’t need to look the way it already had. Now, it was time to pick up my youngest son. The productive part of my day was over. That fact alone was bad enough. I didn’t realize, though, that the destructive part was about to begin. 

After I scooped up my first grader, we came straight home. His brother, with whom he shares a room, was in the shower. When my little guy asked if he could watch TV, I said yes; figuring that I could use that time to get a few more things done. Neat plan so far. 

When his brother came out of the shower four minutes later, he dispatched his little brother out of the room so he could get dressed. Annoyed, my first grader came into the living room and threw a tantrum about his TV time being interrupted. The beginning of the end.

Sensing my anger level increase, I calmly advised him to be patient and let his brother finish getting dressed. He continued to complain.

I thought this would be an ideal time to say, “Ok, how about this: how about you’ve just lost your TV time for the day? No TV time this afternoon, since it’s such a big deal for you that your brother can’t even get dressed.”

Commence the meltdown.

If I wasn’t already reaching my capacity to cope, this surely was enough to hit the cap. Always an overachiever, I blew right past it.

I launched up from the accent chair and literally marched my first grader down the hall. Already crying from his meltdown, I sprayed kerosene all over the situation by making him walk down the hall with me behind him – hands on his shoulders the whole time – until we reached my bedroom door. Once we entered my room, I picked him up, placed him on my bed, got down on my knees to speak to him at eye level, and sternly admonished him for his meltdown and for not allowing his brother time to get dressed.

Then, I looked at my first grader. He was terrified. I had never once before seen such a look of abject fear on his face… and I had put it there. This isn’t the Daddy he knows. To him, this guy’s a monster. I thought, “Man – I am NAILING this dad thing today!” A profile in parenting perfection. Yeah.



As I watched tears the size of hubcaps falling my little guy’s eyes, two things became abundantly clear: first, my meltdown was worst than his. The second: I had to fix it. After three kids and a parenting journey that had begun over 13 years earlier, this would be the first time I would be doing something like this. 

I apologized. I found words. They were easy, delivered with warmth and humility, and sought more than anything to honor the fact that he didn’t like me very much at that moment. And with good reason – I took my frustrations from the day out on him. I broke my little guy’s heart, and he deserved better than that.

Still, he was willing to hear what I was saying, and in the end, he decided to take the leap of faith required for him to accept my apology. I did not take that lightly.

I was reminded of a few things that afternoon. One was that there are so many extraordinary ways to screw up as a parent. Another is that being a parenting professional does not preclude one from finding new and exciting ways to crash and burn as a parent. The biggest, though, was probably the importance of the art of repair. Doesn’t matter what the circumstance – the art of repair is a critical component in any meaningful relationship. We do well to look at the art of repair not as something to be feared or loathed, but something to be embraced and appreciated. It is a process that honors truths and makes care and concern visible. 

As much as my first grader might remember what I did to make him cry, he also remembers what I did afterward. No storm off, no lecture, no “think about what you did wrong” – an honest reflection on how I could have done that moment better. He appreciated it.

Not perfect, just parenting.