They say that the two most important days in our lives are the day we’re born and the day we find out why. And that’s a great insight.
Except there’s no single day that we find out why. Life tells us why in an ongoing way. Experiencing life and taking it all in is a continuous process.
Certainly, having children was a major defining moment in my life because it made clear to me that being a parent—being a good parent, being a father—might be the most important reason I was born. Though parenting, too, is a process that evolves. Just as we never arrive in life, we never arrive as parents either, and our dreams and goals shift as a result of circumstances and experience.
Throughout the course of being a parent I’ve had the sense of its importance reaffirmed. If we are consciously aware of our actions, we will constantly fortify, reevaluate, and acknowledge our purpose. Over time, various ways I have either protected or steered my children, and continue to do so, are added to the answer to the question of why I’m here.
Even the idea of being a parent changes. Some people think that being a parent is about being “present” and providing for their children—but how do we define that? No one has to be a parent to feed someone, for example, so that can’t be the root of it.
I was talking to my daughter Sarah recently, and I suddenly said, “I can’t believe I’m your father.” I’ve said this to her before—I say it to all my kids. What I mean is that I’m so blessed to have been able to reach this point.
When we set goals related to how we want to succeed in life, we never understand the full scope of life’s possibilities. We can only imagine what we can comprehend. The joy of being a parent and seeing these people who are part me is mind-blowing.
There’s an incredible primal component to being a parent, and part of the power I feel is from something that is not a conscious decision. It transcends that. It is the essence of religion and spirituality. The ultimate affirmation of life is birth. Although I can’t articulate it, what’s so stunning is to suddenly understand the meaning of life and how life is perpetuated, and how, in essence, we never really die.
We are the remnants of our parents, and we continue on through our children.
This realization was so enormous in scope to me that, again, it opened a door to something I didn’t even know existed: the potential to give a child everything I didn’t have, and also to heal myself by doing it. There is a reciprocal joy.
I’ve made the conscious decision that the best way to lead is by example. I become a better person when I make sure I’m not only honest with myself but also honest with my children. I ask myself, Is this behavior I could explain to my children? Thinking this way eliminates many moral dilemmas. It’s a simple gut check. Even if I didn’t have kids, I could apply the same thinking in a more general way: Is this behavior I could honestly defend to future generations?
A tobacco company once offered KISS sponsorship and much needed financial compensation at a time when we were trying to rebuild the band during personnel changes and upheaval, and our money was dwindling. But if we had accepted that money, how could I explain that to my children? We passed. At a later point someone was interested in partnering with me to create a coffee-table book of porn stars, and I thought about it. No matter how I window-dressed it, it again kept coming back to one thing: How could I explain this to my children? Well, I couldn’t, so it was another no.
In the case of porn specifically, people have to decide for themselves whether or not it works for them. But for me, the book would have been legitimizing something I wasn’t comfortable with, and I would have been doing it because money was involved. I want my children to know that money can’t change my values. If I’m hoping they will emulate what I say, they should also be able to see that I back it up with what I do. What we do inspires people much more than what we say. That didn’t resonate with me until I got older, but now it’s my mantra with raising kids: lead by example. It’s not what I say; it’s what I do. Or as I heard another parent say, “I’m watching your feet, not your mouth.”
Sometimes people look at couples who don’t have children and think, “Oh, isn’t that sad?” Well, who’s to say? Nobody is automatically a good parent. We don’t automatically give our children what’s best for them—even if, as it was with my parents, we have that intention. Not everyone automatically puts their children before themselves—some people are too selfish to do so. I certainly don’t think that just by having a child we necessarily develop those desires or drives.
My childhood led me to look for ways to validate myself because I didn’t get sufficient validation at home. Now, as a father, I think it’s important to tell my children I’m proud of them when they succeed at something. But it’s also important—very important—to say to them, “How does it make you feel?” That is, to put them in touch with their own feelings so they’re not dependent on my approval as much as their own. As Colin and Sarah have already shown themselves to be terrific students, with test scores and grades I certainly never had, my saying “Boy, that is really terrific” has led to “How does it make you feel? Does it feel good to do such a good job?”
I want all my children to realize that doing well makes them feel good, as opposed to just making me proud. I want to stress the internal rewards of doing a good job, not just the external praise. Positive reinforcement is great, but equally important is to teach children that success feels inherently good. Accomplishments should make them feel good, and it’s not as necessary for them to get the approval of someone else as it is for them to feel their own approval.
I regard this as extremely important with my children. It’s important to me that I tell them this because I didn’t hear it when I was a child. But again, it’s also important to say “How do you feel?” That connects the dots for them.
It makes my dad feel good, but I feel really good too.
I have always wanted to give my children something wonderful, to help them appreciate the things I appreciate. Validation comes in so many forms. Recently Colin was gazing out our bedroom window and said to me, “Dad, look at that beautiful sunset.” I knew that we, as his parents, were making that crucial difference: I must be doing something right if my children see the beauty in the world around them that other people miss. That’s life affirming to me. That means I’m going to leave something behind that’s better than who I am.
A couple of years ago I was telling someone that my adult son, Evan, was very grounded, very socially conscious, very cognizant of his obligations to the world and to society. Then I added, “All things I was clueless about at his age.” Evan is so far beyond who I was in my early twenties. At nine, Sarah has compassion and empathy for others that is deeply touching, and it is the result of her processing what she has seen at home and embracing it in her own way. Emily, at seven years old, has a grasp of social interactions and a confidence that makes her one of the funniest and most joyous children I’ve ever seen. The fact that others agree, and that she is mine, only deepens the profoundness. These qualities had no bearing in my life when I was younger, but all this is the ultimate reward, the ultimate measure of my own life. I’m doing something right, and that’s life affirming.
Look, everybody thinks their children are special. When other people tell you your children are special, there’s something rewarding about that. Those accolades mean a lot to me. I love it when somebody comes over to my family in a restaurant and says, “You’re a great dad.” Well, I know that, but it’s also nice to have it recognized.
As I said before, I don’t believe trying to be a great parent is universal. I’ve seen a mom look at her child—who couldn’t have been more than five years old—and say, “You make me sick.” So, no, I don’t give that credit to everybody. Having a child doesn’t automatically make anyone a great parent. For me, parenting has to do with giving my children what I craved and wanted so desperately when I was young. Not material things, but a sense of worth, a sense of joy in the world, a sense of no judgment—all things I wasn’t given. I have an opportunity to shape my children in a way I wasn’t, and to reap the rewards of doing that. Because I believe we heal ourselves when we do good for others.
When it comes to living on in another generation, I’m happy that the things I’ve been able to learn, independent of my parents, are now getting passed down. I’m breaking the cycle. It’s not necessarily analogous, but a child who has been abused has two choices: to become an abuser or to be the opposite. I know what I saw. I know how I was treated. I am determined to take a different road with my kids.
Sometimes I’m stunned by what I see out there. I’m stunned when parents still put themselves, in one way or another, before their kids. I can’t fathom that. I see people who say they put their children first, but then they qualify it. Don’t qualify it. Put your children first.
I want to be the best parent I can for my kids. I expect that from myself. When my younger son, Colin, says to me, “You’re the best dad in the world,” I say, “That means a lot to me. I try.” Mind you, most kids will say their parents are the best in the world, but I want my son to know I work at it. I try. I want to be the best parent. I want him to know that it’s not something I take lightly.
That’s different from a lot of other people. And the rewards are so much greater. It removes a lot of the chance in how children will turn out, because the children are being guided and fueled by their parents. Yes, children will be who they are and each one will be different, but children start life as a blank slate and we parents are the ones who do the initial writing on it. We give our children the values they start out with—and we can save them a lot of trouble if those values are worthwhile.
We’re not going to change our children’s personalities or their aspirations, but we clearly give them their code of honor, their ethics, their morality. We can spell that out to them, or they can see it in action. I want to make sure my children see it in action.
One thing that’s particularly important to impart to children is the difference between tolerance and acceptance. Because I want to help my kids be nonjudgmental and empathetic. I know there’s been a sort of movement built around the idea of tolerance, but I’m not interested in tolerance. Tolerance isn’t what’s called for; acceptance is. Embracing. We tolerate pain. We tolerate sadness. But that’s not the same as willingly accepting something. Acceptance is a choice we make.
Tolerance is a good legal standard so people can’t discriminate. But I want something on a more personal level. It’s a bit like the difference between what is lawful and what is ethical. People can stay on the right side of the law, can stand up and say, “I didn’t break the law,” but then do some horrifically unethical things. I’m not interested in teaching my kids to tolerate differences in other people. I want to teach them to accept and embrace those differences.
Anyone can quote from the Bible; and you can find anything you want there, from brutality to kindness. But anybody who uses the Bible as grounds for either hatred or intolerance, or tolerance with the belief that someone is going to hell, doesn’t make the world a better place. I’ve found in my life that by being kind and accepting—and understanding how difficult life can be for others and how we all deserve to be loved and happy—makes life so much better. To give that to my children early in their lives, as opposed to letting them stumble through life the way I did, is a gift to them and to me. To carry around hatred or intolerance or judgment is ugly.
The bottom line is, who are we to judge other people? Who are we, for instance, to decide or to pass judgment on who anyone can love? We’re blessed to find love. If my kids see somebody who’s different from the norm, I make sure to tell them to imagine how difficult that person’s life is, how brave that person has to be. If we see a homeless person on the street, I remind my kids that that person was also once a child in school who dreamed of being president or a star.
I want to break everything down to its most human form.
I want all my children to know it’s okay to feel pain, it’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to cry. I’ve done all that. Only weak people don’t. Strong people do. I’m real clear on my job. When baby birds leave the nest, they have to be ready and they have to have knowledge. We should set them up to be able not only to handle life but also to embrace it. Not to go out there and battle. It shouldn’t be a battle out there. We should give our kids the tools to go out and enjoy life, to be suitably educated to deal with whatever they need to deal with and believe that they can.
It’s what we owe them.
And if we don’t do that, they’ll suffer for it.
I’ve always found that I’m most effective in conversations with people when I just relate what I’ve done. Maybe that information will enlighten them. Maybe it will give them some glimmer of how to apply the same things to their own lives. But I’m not in any position to tell anybody how to live—including my children. When Evan reached an age when I thought we needed to talk about drugs, I didn’t say to him, “Don’t do drugs,” although I certainly believe that. I thought the most effective way to talk to him was to let him know in more practical terms what doing drugs can lead to: “Remember so-and-so? He’s dead. Remember so-and-so? He’s broke.”
Basically: Here’s the lay of the land. Here are the tools. Now you decide.
I continue to follow this same approach in many different forms, and the results are resoundingly evident in who my children are, how they see the world, and how the world sees them.