Fatherhood—a bit like war, but with more Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Let’s talk about parenting.
Specifically: Let’s talk about how to raise decent, non-feral children in a world where the average 8-year-old owns three iPads, calls you “bruh,” and believes Wi-Fi is a basic human right.
I have a son. He is 12. I love him more than steak and a nice glass of a Super Tuscan combined. But he is also a tiny emotional terrorist with the negotiation skills of a hostage-holding raccoon. One minute, he’s hugging me because I cut his PB & J into triangles. The next, he’s crying because the triangles are slightly obtuse and don’t “vibe.”
So how do you survive this?
Simple.
You go full Stoic on their ass.
Rule #1: Control What You Can. Like the Router.
The Stoics—Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, your buddy Dave who does jiu-jitsu and owns zero furniture—believed in this radical idea: you can’t control what happens, only how you respond.
That’s right. You cannot control the fact that your child will eat a single bite of chicken, declare themselves full, and then ask for a sleeve of Oreos 14 seconds later.
But you can control whether you chose one of the following reactions:
- (a) breathing like a monk; or
- (b) yelling “FOR THE LOVE OF ZEUS, YOU JUST ATE!” while pounding the countertop like an ancient Greek fisherman.
Stoicism says you should pick (a).
I usually pick (b), but that’s not the point.
Rule #2: Be the Calm in the Target Toy Aisle
I once watched a grown man lose a philosophical debate to a 6-year-old at a Target. The issue? A glitter-covered, noise-making plastic blob called “Unicorn Surprise.”
“Daddy, I NEED it,” said the little boy
“We’re not buying junk today,” said the man, with the confidence of a faltering senator.
The child stared deep into his soul. “But you said I could have one thing on vacation.”
It was a Tuesday in March.
This is what the Stoics meant when they talked about temperance—the ability to stay cool when life throws glitter and betrayal at your face. Stay calm. Stand tall. Say “no.”
And then get ready to be hated for 45 minutes straight. It’s good to be a hated benevolent dictator sometimes.
It’s fine. Marcus Aurelius was emperor of Rome, and his kids probably also thought he was a bit domineering.
Rule #3: Virtue > Victory (Even in Fortnite)
Modern dads are constantly tempted to take the easy path. Like giving your kid 17 hours of screen time because you want to eat dinner without a screaming match over broccoli – it’s always over some veggie, isn’t it?
But here’s the truth: raising good humans isn’t about winning every battle. It’s about being the kind of man they might someday respect.
That means showing patience, integrity, and the ability to fake enthusiasm for “Pokemon lore” even though you’re 50 and dying inside.
Sometimes I say, “Son, your behavior is unacceptable.”
He says, “This isn’t behavior, this is neurodivergence.”
I don’t even know what that means. But I say, “Cool. Still no soda.”
That’s the Stoic path.
Rule #4: You Are Not a Butler. Or a Snack Sherpa.
A modern child believes snacks should appear like magic, every 90 minutes, in an unending cycle of cheese-based carbohydrates.
Here’s what Epictetus would say: “He who seeks nachos from the void will remain ever hungry.”
Or maybe that was me yelling during carpool.
The point is: you’re a dad, not a snack concierge. Your job is to teach them how to make a sandwich, clean a dish, and eventually—God willing—leave your house before they’re 37.
Rule #5: Laugh at the Absurdity or Try Dying
In the end, fatherhood is ridiculous. It’s fart jokes, spilled cereal, bedtime stories, and existential questions about Pikachu’s tax status.
It is not for the faint of heart.
So laugh. Smile when the baby wipes are in the fridge. Numb your soul with coffee. And remember: you’re not alone.
Somewhere out there, another dad is also being screamed at for offering the wrong kind of orange juice.
Together, we stand.
Surrounded by goldfish crackers and a half-box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch that calls your name every midnight.
Final Thought:
You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to show up, shut up, and maybe read a little Marcus Aurelius between tantrums.
Also, hide snacks for yourself. Behind the vitamins. They’ll never look there.
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