There was a time when I thought my father not only set the standard of parenting, but also had all the answers anyone could ask of a father. He was, after all, an assistant coach in the National Football League for the Baltimore Colts. On Sundays, he stood on the sidelines instructing players, mammoth men who had nicknames like Bubba and Big Daddy. Any problems, like an annoying neighbor, a bad umpire, an obnoxious clerk at the checkout counter, my father could silence with a look or a few loud words. Problem solved.
As time progressed, I grew to see the flaws in my father’s approach to parenthood. When I became a teenager and then a man, I encountered the temptations of drinking and girls, questionable friends and worse decisions. I found it impossible to even begin to approach him about how much was the right amount to drink, how to talk to a girl, how to decide whether to get on the back of a motorcycle or to call a cab. I knew each of those topics would generate the same look as the obnoxious fan at a basketball game, the look that said shut up.
So I looked forward to fatherhood 2.0, the next generation of parenting, my generation of parenting. From the time my daughter and son were old enough to talk, I made a point of listening. I spent most of the past two decades making sure my children knew they could talk to me—about anything, any time, anywhere. And, probably like my father did too, I felt confident that my version of parenthood was the evolved version, the effective version.
Then I found the folly in my thinking that I had begun to approach the zenith of my craft. It struck me clearly during the start of my son’s freshman year at James Madison University. He felt a little homesick, a little out of place during his first few weeks of school. So, as I had throughout my time as a parent, I made sure to make time every day to talk with Zack.
It wasn’t until my wife sat next to me one evening during one of our phone calls and reflected back the content of our conversation that I began to see all of the shortcomings of Fatherhood 2.0. Zack and I talked about his intramural basketball team, his Italian class and his opinion of college food. He mentioned his girlfriend, who attends another school, and a party he had gone to over the weekend. But we never broached the subject of sex, how much he did or didn’t drink at parties, questionable friends or poor decisions. I knew if I even began to bring up those topics he would give me a one-word answer, the kind my father used to use. Zack would say, “Dad,” the way my father used to say, “Really?” And I would understand the implication: Don’t pursue that topic.
All of which leads me to wonder what Fatherhood 3.0 will look like. Will my son find a way to broach the subjects men and their sons have talked around instead of about forever? Or will his journey lead him where it led me and my father before me: to a place where the newest version and the latest insights don’t quite get it right, but lead us to wanting better and hoping the next version of fatherhood will bridge the gulf that seems to forever divide fathers and sons when men and boys become men and men.
Gerry is the play-by-play voice of the Baltimore Ravens. He is also the sports director for Baltimore’s NBC affiliate, WBAL TV 11, and a frequent contributor to the NFL Network.