I recently missed senior night at my son’s school. He plays basketball, and they had moved senior night to a date I had already blocked out of my calendar. I was scheduled to be in New York. I found myself in this conundrum where I had made assurances to my clients in New York that I would be there. This really was the only 36-hour span that I could get to New York – with additional travel and things in February, for us to plan our year, it needs to happen now.
I went to Harper and said, “Hey, I’m really sorry. I’m torn here. They moved senior night, and now I’m supposed to be in New York.” I reminded him that family always comes first and nothing is more important than him. His response moved me deeply: “Dad, it’s cool. I’ve been playing varsity since I was a freshman, and you’ve come to pretty much every one of my games, home and away. You’re good. We’re good.”
I got emotional. And I think one of the reasons we were good here is that we’ve set a standard. We’ve discussed this as a family: I will attend 80% of my kids’ games. The reason we set the standard at 80 is because that’s the minimal acceptable standard for me as a father. Your number might be different – maybe it’s 70% or 90% – but the critical thing is that you set a concrete standard. Without a clear, measurable benchmark, how can you truly know whether you’re succeeding or falling short? Don’t leave it to guesswork. The more we eliminate ambiguity from our lives through clear, quantifiable standards, the better our relationships, our work, and our lives become.
As men, we often struggle to balance it all – career, family, personal growth, and countless other obligations pulling us in different directions. One thing I’ve learned is that setting measurable, quantifiable standards and communicating those standards as a family isn’t just helpful – it’s essential. When we as men clearly establish and ultimately adhere to the standards we set, it enables us to manage both success and expectations effectively.
Over the course of my kids’ athletic careers, and this includes other activities too, we’ve consistently beaten that standard. But what it allows for is that 20% where career and obligations and travel and other things that are vital in life come into play. For me to also uphold my responsibilities as a husband.
I want my kids to be able to stand on their own, to not look up into the stands all the time and know that somebody is there. They’ve got to stand on their own. They’ve got to be in a position to thrive and go just as hard and get themselves out of situations and circumstances. They need to understand that in this world, being self-reliant is incredibly important. Nobody is coming to save you, even though I would do my best to swoop in and save them whenever possible.
But they need to learn to handle shit on their own. As men, we’re often taught to just figure it out, to shoulder our burdens silently. But I’ve found that being transparent about our standards, communicating them clearly, and holding ourselves accountable to them – that’s what truly helps us navigate the complexity of modern fatherhood while maintaining our integrity and sanity.
This 80/20 approach isn’t just about attendance at games – it’s a powerful principle that can transform how we approach every aspect of life. When we replace vague intentions with clear metrics, we transform “I’ll try my best” into “I will achieve this specific target.” We move from hoping we’re doing enough to knowing we are.
Whether it’s family time, business goals, or personal development, setting clear standards eliminates the draining uncertainty of wondering if we’re measuring up. It gives us a framework for success and the confidence that comes from genuine accountability.
That’s what made Harper’s response so meaningful. It wasn’t just about giving me permission to miss one game – it showed that our standard had helped shape him into someone who understands both dependability and independence. He knows I’m there for him, consistently and reliably, but he also knows how to stand strong on his own.
