Correction Without Control

A Note from the Front Lines of Fatherhood

Lately, I’ve been catching myself—more often than I’d like—getting angry with my 3-year-old son.
Not just frustrated. Not just tired.
Angry.

And here's the part that's hard to say out loud: sometimes I don't like how I sound.
Sometimes I hear my own voice—sharp, loud, too big for such a little boy—and I realize:

This isn't who I want to be.

I'm learning—slowly, imperfectly—that correction isn't about control.
It's about connection.
And connection can’t be forced. It has to be chosen. Breath by breath.

When the anger starts rising now, I try to pause. Even just for a second.
To remember:

He's three. I'm the grown-up.

If I’m boiling over, it’s not because he’s broken.
It’s because I still have places inside me that need gentleness, too.

So I’m practicing a different way:

• Get low. Eye level. Not towering above him.

• Speak softer. Even when everything in me wants to shout.

• Name the feeling. "You’re mad. It's okay to be mad. It's not okay to hit."

I'm not perfect at it. Some days I still get it wrong.
But I'm learning that repair matters more than perfection.
Going back to him, eye-to-eye, and saying,

“Daddy’s sorry. I got too loud. I love you. Let’s try again.”

That matters. Maybe more than anything else.

And here’s something else I’m realizing:
Boys don't just need correction. They need connection.
They need time.
Not just discipline and direction—but ice cream dates, playing trucks on the floor, silly walks around the block, giggling until bedtime.

So I’m carving out dad-and-son dates, small pockets of time where the goal isn’t to teach or correct—just to be.
Because every correction gets planted in the soil of our relationship.
And I want that soil to be rich with trust, not fear.

I’m not writing this because I have it figured out.
I’m writing it because I’m in it. Right now.
Trying. Failing. Repairing. Loving.
Stretching one honest inch at a time.

If you're here too—you’re not alone.