The Arc of Parenthood: from Gods to Guides

Recently, a friend of mine told me his 24-year-old daughter wanted to go to counseling with him. She was struggling with feelings of resentment toward him. When he asked my thoughts, I told him that it was a good thing—at least she wanted to work on the relationship, even if it stemmed from negative emotions. I also advised him not to take it personally. Then, I shared what I would call the "arc" of the relationship between parents and their children.

At the beginning of life, parents are like gods to their children. Without them, kids cannot survive. Parents provide for every need—physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual. In the eyes of a child, their parents are their entire world. That's why young children make cards that say, "You are the best mom in the world" or "You are the best dad in the world." And they absolutely mean it. In their innocence, you are the best because you're all they know.

As children move into their teenage years, parents begin to lose that god-like status. Teenagers start seeking out ways to meet their emotional, mental, and spiritual needs outside the family. Of course, good parenting helps guide them toward these opportunities. Parents introduce their kids to church, school, recreational activities, and environments where they can receive encouragement, affirmation, and the support their souls need from others.

During this time, pre-teens and teenagers start to notice their parents' limitations and flaws. They begin to compare their home life to what their peers experience. As their brains develop, they become aware of inconsistencies and mistakes their parents make. They're mentally mature enough to recognize their parents' faults but often not emotionally mature enough to handle them graciously. They may make sarcastic or snarky comments, expressing frustration. Yet, they also recognize their dependence on their parents for physical, mental, and emotional needs, so they walk a fine line.

By their twenties, children gain greater independence, and with the added distance comes a deeper understanding of their parents' imperfections. They also become more aware of the ways their parents may have unintentionally wounded them. No matter how much you love your kids, you will wound them. Some wounds are the result of sins of commission. My 23-year-old son, Max, recalls a time when I yelled at him for putting out the fire on the grill and told him he couldn’t go outside for the rest of the night. I crushed his heart and desire to play the hero that evening. I deeply regret it—I totally overreacted. It's a wound that can be healed, but it was still there.

Then there are the sins of omission, or perhaps not sins at all, but moments when we unintentionally hurt our kids. Maybe we missed an opportunity to connect with their hearts or didn’t realize what they needed at a specific moment. Over the years, I’ve heard my kids recount things I didn’t do for them—things I hadn’t even known they needed. If they had asked, I would have gladly helped. But sometimes, we just don’t know.

My point to my friend—and to you—is that our kids will eventually come back with wounds we don’t feel responsible for, hurts we couldn’t possibly have known about or done anything to prevent. In those moments, we simply say we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt them, but we acknowledge their pain and apologize for not doing better.

As I reflect on my own life, I appreciate my parents more now than ever before. My dad passed away in 2018, but a few weeks before he died, he came down from Philly to visit our family in Baltimore. During that season, I began to see my own flaws as a father—how my selfishness often interferes with loving my kids fully. I started thinking about how much my dad did for me and how he delighted in me. I remembered the letters he wrote to me in college, the times he told me he was proud of me, and how he made sure I had a Catholic education and went to college.

One day, we were driving together to pick up one of the kids from a friend’s house, and I just blurted out, "You know, Dad, the longer I am a father, the more I appreciate how great a father you were to me." We didn’t talk about it anymore after that—it felt too awkward to repeat—but I wasn’t even sure he had heard me. After his funeral, I told my mom what I had said, and she quickly assured me, "He did."

I think that’s what we hope for as parents. It may be a bumpy ride through the teenage and young adult years, but if we persevere and stay committed to the relationship, our kids will one day appreciate the love and sacrifices we made for them.

Rooting for you,
Tom