One day, toward the end of my mom's recent trip, she came into the kitchen chuckling after a typical display of feeling from our son.
“I can’t get over it. You were just like him,” she said.
Before last summer, I would have scoffed at the comparison. I remember myself as a kid who knew from an early age that there was a right way to be and a wrong way to be. And I was going to be right. Which made me good.
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I often think about something a very thoughtful dad of two said to me during a coaching session last year. We were talking about his transition home after long days at work, and how hard he tried to come into the house with an open heart and mind.
Things had been very challenging with his 5-year-old son, and he worried about what he might encounter when he opened the door. He worried too about how triggering his son’s behavior often felt.
He tried to shed his day on the commute home, and plug back into family life with energy. But, he said, as soon as he stepped through the door, he felt as if he were “back in the lion’s den again, ready for war.”
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