This past weekend I left Michigan and took our youngest two boys on a dad-and-boys trip to LEGOLAND. I had big hopes for making memories, sharing laughs, and maybe—just maybe—getting through the trip without losing my mind in Florida traffic. What I didn’t expect was a full-on attack… to my ego.
When we picked up our rental, they didn’t have the truck I reserved. Instead, they handed me keys to a beast—a RAM 2500. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever tried driving a monster truck around downtown Tampa, but let’s just say it’s not exactly a dream. My boys, of course, were thrilled. “This thing is HUGE, Dad!” So, I went with it.
Later, I pulled into a gas station so the boys could use the bathroom. I didn’t pull all the way into the parking space. It’s a rental, it’s oversized, and I didn’t want to risk some surprise scrape and a damage fee I’d be paying off until next Father’s Day. I figured the boys would be in and out—spoiler alert: they never are. There’s always one more thing. Always.
As I stood waiting, a couple of truckers walked by, chuckled, and pointed at my parking job. One gave a thumbs up. Not the proud kind—more like the “good try, rookie” kind. And man, it hit. I felt it deep, like they had just called out my man card in front of a gas station audience.
And for a few minutes… it got in my head. That familiar script started rolling: Real men don’t need backup cameras. Real men don’t hesitate. Real men park a 2500 blindfolded with one hand on a Slim Jim.
But then I looked in the rearview mirror.
Two little faces were laughing in the back seat, arguing about what music we’d blast next. They didn’t care about trucker approval. They weren’t keeping score on how perfectly I maneuvered into a gas station. They cared that their dad showed up. That he turned on some Alex Warren. That he packed snacks. That he laughed at their jokes, even the terrible ones. That he was present.
And it hit me: Why am I giving so much mental space to men I’ll never see again when the ones that matter most are sitting right behind me, asking if we can go swimming when we get to the hotel?
Fellas, I know we all do it. We let the sideways comments and imagined judgments creep in. We feel the need to prove ourselves in all the wrong arenas. But can I remind you of something?
The ones who matter most are usually in the back seat.
They’re not judging your driving or your toughness. They’re watching how you show love. How you listen. How you show up when it’s inconvenient. They’re taking mental notes, not on how macho you are, but on how safe they feel around you. On how you made them laugh. On how you made them feel seen.
As we sit in the days following Father’s Day, I want to challenge you to think about your legacy—not your resume, not your reputation, not your toughness—but your legacy.
Who will be at your headstone one day?
Who will be quoting your dad jokes and telling stories about the time you rode the Safari Boat ride at LEGOLAND while coming up with your own crocodile hunter narration and got stuck in traffic for hours but still made them laugh?
Who will pass down your favorite watch or baseball glove—not because it’s worth much, but because it reminds them of you?
Who will still feel your presence long after you’re gone?
That’s who matters. And they’re probably in the backseat, right now, asking for a snack.
Let the truckers laugh. You’ve got more important things to do.