The following is adapted from DADBOD by Joe Wheeler.
Growing up, my father was a study in extremes: largely uninterested, except when his interest was overwhelming, sometimes overpowering everything and everyone else. In our house, the saying went that he truly took an interest when you could hold an “intriguing conversation”—around age twelve—or if it was something he was passionate about.
One memory stands out. I was about ten, and another boy and I had a scuffle at school. That evening, my father sat me down on the couch and asked repeatedly what happened. I explained again and again, but in his mind, I was the victim of a bully—and he could not tolerate it. By the end of the conversation, he was screaming that he would come with me to the principal’s office, pounding his fists on the coffee table until his hands bled. I cried, stunned, but I also knew, deep down, that his anger came from a place of care.
Benevolence—his disposition to do good—was always present, even when masked by stubbornness, strong opinions, or arguments. It was the lens through which I would come to interpret many of his lessons.
In high school, I began to excel at playing an instrument. Auditions for the annual “Honor Band” tested the best young musicians, but I stumbled in the pre-rehearsal test. I failed a difficult section and was kicked out. I was devastated—not only embarrassed but deeply disappointed in myself.
My father helped me see the moment differently. “Lesson learned,” he said. “Now that this has happened to you, you know how it feels. You do not have to let it happen again. Next time you pick up that instrument, it will be for a purpose.” Those words reframed failure as opportunity. The following year, I auditioned again, made the Honor Band, and eventually played in the All-State Band and a United States regional honor band. The experience didn’t define me, but it shaped me, and my father’s guidance was central to that growth.
The Boomer generation carried its own definitions of masculinity: strength equaled muscles, money equaled power, and the man worked while the woman raised the kids. I witnessed these dynamics firsthand. And yet, within that framework, my father taught me that discipline, presence, and benevolence could coexist—that being strong and caring were not mutually exclusive.
It was a complicated relationship, but it was formative. His lessons, sometimes delivered through frustration or anger, ultimately prepared me to navigate life with resilience, purpose, and perspective.
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For more on resilience, discipline, and fatherly lessons, find DADBOD on Amazon.
Joe Wheeler likes to think of himself as a normal guy with a job, a hot wife, and three awesome kids. Based in Seattle, he’s a technology attorney by profession but really enjoys reading, writing, coaching his kids' softball and basketball teams, and playing the occasional pickup games of any sport. Joe brings a fresh, honest perspective to fatherhood while offering practical tips for being your best self.