Last year, I wrote a piece about what I’d learned from becoming a first-time father. Since then, Izzy and I have had a myriad of adventures from our first camping trip, to my getting married and adding a step-daughter, Ellie, into the mix.

The maturation from age two to three is fascinating – I watch Izzy and Ellie form their personalities and carve out their identities each day in the midst of a world they’re only just beginning to understand. And what I've noticed is that there's a positive correlation between their growth and my own. I’ve heard it said that having kids makes you feel like a kid again: kicking a soccer ball, making a mess with finger paint, discovering your inner Michelangelo with play-doh, and splashing just a little too much in puddles on the sidewalk. It’s true, I feel like a kid again, but it’s not just because I get to relive the fun that my kids live every day. I feel like a kid again because each day, I’m learning something new about myself.

I’m learning not to take myself so seriously. I’m learning that each minute with my girls is an opportunity for me to convey to them how much they are loved (even when it’s with a timeout). And I’m learning that I don’t have all of the answers – and I’m not supposed to.

I’ve had to grow up more in the last three years than in all other years of my life combined, and I imagine this wonderfully coerced growth will only be exponential in the years to come. If you’re a veteran dad, you can give me a heads up on what other lessons to look forward to, and if you’re brand new to the dad game, maybe some of these will help you prepare.

Let Them Fall Down

Since the moment Izzy was born, I’ve been by her side. She took her first nap on my chest. I sat on the floor while she took her first steps toward me. She held my hand on her first trip to the zoo. I’m the dad, and I love being by her side – but that doesn’t mean that I catch her every time she falls.

This kid is clumsy; she trips like she’s in a domino contest to see who can fall down the most. And while there are those fortuitous moments when I’m able to catch her, it doesn't happen every time. Sometimes she scrapes her knees, sometimes she bangs her elbows, and sometimes she just flat-out face plants. I've got to be ok with that. Sure I’ll comfort her and put on a band-aid, but it doesn’t undo the fall. And while I obviously want to keep her safe, if I'm saving her from every stumble, I'm not teaching her how to pick herself up and keep on moving forward. Someday Izzy will fall relationally, or she’ll fall in her job, or in any number of other ways. I may not be able to be right beside her, but I’ll take solace in knowing that she’s able to navigate her way.

I think as Izzy grows, the struggle for me will be listening to her troubles – and letting that be enough. Because I’m a teacher, I have this way of always wanting to teach, but sometimes it’s more condescending than helpful. When Izzy falls in life, she’ll need me to listen, to know that I’m there for support. She won’t need me to tell her what she did wrong or how she should have handled the situation. She may ask for my help or my advice, but if she doesn’t, I need to help through my willingness to simply listen and be by her side.

Quit Checking Your Damn Phone

Since I was fifteen years old, I’ve had a cell phone in my left front pocket. It’s always there, on vibrate, ready to make me feel important with a buzz from a call or text. But Izzy doesn’t have a cell phone. Izzy talks to me face to face. She calls to me from across the room or the backyard or the crayon-strewn table, wanting my attention so that I don’t miss these most significant years of her development. But too often, I’m on my phone. And yeah, there are sometimes those texts that need to be addressed quickly in the moment, but more often there are countless minutes when I’m on my phone because I want to read the news or some article about cameras or cars.

A few weeks ago, my wife, Katie, commented that we’d both been spending way too much time on our phones and the way she knew it was because they had crept onto the dinner table. We made a rule: during dinner, our cell phones go into a bowl in the kitchen while the family eats in the dining room. We want to talk to Izzy and Ellie, hear their stories and their nonsensical jokes. Katie and I also want them to see us talk to each other, to actively listen to the other the way a respectful spouse does. One day, our girls will be in relationships, and I want them to expect their significant other to get off their damn phone in the same way.

Since we made the rule, I’ve noticed I’m more cognizant of how often I look at my phone at work, too. If another teacher comes to talk to me, I put my phone in my bag. I don’t want the distraction. I want the person talking to me to know that I’m actually listening.

Let Them Find Their Way

I still like to joke with my dad about the time he taught me how to wrap up the vacuum cord. “Cords have memory, Mike, so there’s a right way and a wrong way to wrap them up. We do things the right way because it makes life easier.” That's how I was raised: we do things the right way.

There’s nothing wrong with that, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found there’s the “right” way, and there’s the way that works best for me. For example, Izzy and I are two very different people. I like cleanliness, and she likes eating chocolate pudding over the wool rug while watching Ninja Turtles and acting out the fight scenes. These ideologies do not coincide. But Izzy is becoming the person she’s going to be. She’s finding her way. I can show her how to do things, and I can enforce rules (let’s eat the pudding over the table), but sometimes she needs to find the way that works for her.

Recently, I was folding laundry, and Izzy asked if she could help. I showed her how to fold one of the t-shirts, and then I cut her loose. Ten minutes later her pile of folded t-shirts looked like the aftermath of a nuclear war. I smiled, thanked her, and gave her a big kiss and a high five when she put the shirts into my dresser drawer for me. I’ll show her how to fold the shirts again next time, but for now, I want her to know that what she’s doing, and how she’s doing it, is good enough for me.

Izzy will choose hobbies that I don’t enjoy. She might be good at math and hate English (my polar opposite), and eventually, she'll undoubtedly make life decisions that I would have made differently. It took me years to realize that I don’t have to be my dad, that I don’t have to do everything his way simply because it’s his way. I’ve found my own way, and hopefully, so will Izzy.

Don't Hesitate To Apologize

Apologizing to your kids is not a defeat. It’s not a submission or a sign of weakness. It’s an acknowledgment that you’re not always right.

I’m usually an even-keeled man, and for whatever reason, the terrible twos haven’t gotten me down like some of the horror stories I’ve heard from other parents. But make no mistake, Izzy knows how to push my buttons. And there have been times when I’ve lost my cool. I’ve lost my patience with Izzy when I was angry about something else entirely; I’ve yelled a little too loudly because our girls were playing and broke something accidentally. These are times when it’s ok for me to apologize. I’m not teaching Izzy that I’m a pushover. I’m teaching her that sometimes I’m wrong and that it’s ok.

Izzy and Ellie are always fighting over toys or blankets or blocks, and we make them apologize to each other. Surely if we want humble kids, we have to model this for them. And beyond my relationship with my girls, this is the kind of man I simply want to be: a man who is willing to own up and apologize when he’s wrong. I’ve had to apologize to my wife, my kids, my students, my friends, and my parents because I’ve made mistakes. Sometimes I’m wrong, and it’s easier to acknowledge being wrong than to maintain the righteousness of needing to be right.

I don’t sleep as many hours as I used to. It’s not as easy now for me to throw on my kicks and take a run as it was three years ago. And I seriously don’t remember the last time I went to see a movie that wasn’t animated. But I wouldn’t trade it. I'm a dad and a step-dad. I’m the guy who gets to follow alongside our girls and show them that they are strong enough to get up when they fall off of their bikes. What a ride it’s already been; what a ride has yet to come.

What I've Learned from Three Years of Fatherhood