The Answer Is Still Yes
May 2, 2026
“You can tell your old man you’ll do some largemouth fishing another time. You just got too much on your plate to bait and cast the line. You can always put a rain check in his hand… ’til you can’t.” ~ Cody Johnson
Last Sunday, my 19-year-old walked into my office and asked, “Dad, want to play catch?”
I’d been working since early that morning. Two straight weeks on the road, a third coming up, trying to get ahead before Monday. I had every reason to say, “Give me a couple hours,” and if I’m being honest, that thought crossed my mind. But the answer is always yes. So I put what I was working on into Claude, hit enter, and went outside.
Later that day, I wrote a quick post on LinkedIn about it. It was just how I felt at the moment. I didn’t overthink it. It ended up resonating with a lot of people, which made me step back and think more about why.
I’m going to be honest about something upfront. I’ve made a lot of mistakes as a dad. I’ve lost my temper, made bad decisions, and let emotions get the best of me at times. There’s no owner’s manual for this, and for a long time I think I believed something a lot of people do. That your kid’s outcomes are a reflection of you. Where they go to school, whether they play sports, what job they get.
Over time, I realized that’s not true. You don’t get to call all the shots. There are too many variables, too many influences, and too many things outside your control. At some point, I stopped worrying about how parenting looked from the outside and started focusing on something much simpler. Presence.
I told a friend something years ago that stuck with him, and honestly it stuck with me too. From birth to 18, you get 18 summers, 18 Christmases, and 18 spring breaks. That’s it. You might get a few extras here and there, but when you frame it up that way, it changes how you think. We spend 30 or 40 years working, but that window with your kids is a fraction of that. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.
So yeah, I’ve thought about that line before. You never know when you’re going to have your last game of catch. I don’t think last Sunday was the last one, but I know I’m closer to the last than the first. And when a 19-year-old who has a lot of choices about how he spends his time walks in and asks to throw a ball around, you go.
What I wish I understood earlier is this. Being a good dad isn’t about controlling outcomes. It’s about building a relationship. Not perfect, not always easy, and definitely not always smooth. There are going to be moments your kids don’t like you. That’s part of it. Just like in leadership, if everybody likes you all the time, you’re probably not making many hard decisions. But respect matters. Trust matters.
The real test isn’t what happens when everything is going well. It’s what happens when it’s not. Do they call you? Do they show up? Do they still want you in their life?
I’ve been really fortunate there. Both my boys will pick up the phone or text. They’ll call when they need advice, when something’s off, or even just to talk about life. Caleb is about to graduate next week and start his first real work experience, and he’s already calling about budgets and 401Ks, even sending over spreadsheets. I find that pretty funny, and honestly pretty cool, because it reminds me a lot of myself.
Carson is on a path that looks a lot like one I was on years ago. It’s been pretty special to help him get back going, and while you never know exactly how something like a baseball career will play out, it’s been a lot of fun to be part of that journey with him.
Those moments matter more than anything else. That’s the relationship.
And when I think about that, I think about my dad. He had big jobs, traveled, and carried a lot of responsibility. But when I look back, I don’t remember him missing much. He was there when it mattered. Whether it was helping with something in the garage, taking me to practice, or just showing up, he made time. I didn’t fully appreciate it then, but I do now. And in a lot of ways, I’ve tried to model that.
I’ve also learned it’s not just about your own kids. It’s the ones you coach or teach, the ones who reach out years later asking for advice, the ones who trust you enough to say, “Hey, can we talk?” You don’t have to be perfect to show up for people. You just have to be there.
If I had to define being a good dad, I’m not sure I’m the one who should. But I know this. When everything is said and done, I want my kids to know I was there. Not perfect, but present.
Because one day, whether you realize it or not, you’ve already played your last game of catch.
