A new bike, a little umpire money, and the lesson that time does the heavy lifting. Here’s how I’m teaching my kids that saving before 20 is the real snowball effect — with a simple tool to show the magic of compounding.
One night of umpiring, vinyl, and baseball videos reminded me that even as Gio grows more independent, music and small moments still stitch us together.
Parenting a pre-teen sometimes feels like watching an eclipse—the light dims, conversation shrinks, and frustration flares. I’ve found myself losing my temper, but also found a way back: giving my son a true name—Rising Sun—to remind me who he is and who he’s becoming. This post is about discipline, anger, and learning not to dim his light.
Parenting a pre-teen means protecting the bubble of boyhood while teaching responsibility. Here’s how I’m using scaffolding to guide my son through chaos, bad decisions, and growth.
At a youth baseball game, I watched a dad coach his son after every pitch. The boy kept looking at him instead of playing. It reminded me why parents need to stop coaching from the sidelines—and let their kids fail, learn, and grow.
It didn’t ruin my day. But it showed me how I want my kids to show up—online and off.
I used to think leadership meant having the answer. But over time—through parenting, running a business, and watching one brilliant baseball coach reframe a moment—I’ve come to believe something else: asking the right question might be the most powerful move we can make. This post is about the shift from control to curiosity, and what happens when we lead with belief instead of certainty.
A love letter to four wildly different 80s movies—and what they still teach me about wonder, responsibility, growing up, and sharing joy with my kids.
Two roadside memorials near our home—one for a 13-year-old girl—have become quiet landmarks of love, loss, and the rituals that never stop. This is a reflection on parenting, grief, and what it means to keep showing up when the world has moved on.
On the last day of third grade, my daughter came home heartbroken — and reminded me just how deep a child’s heart can feel. A small story of grief, comfort, and boba tea.
A reflection on how a simple Dad’s Advice slide deck became the seed of this blog — a place to store wisdom, life lessons, and love for my kids to return to someday.
At 11 years old, kids need reps, not the bench. Here's why we left the travel team our son worked so hard to join—and what really matters at this age.
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