Every parent eventually reaches the point where there isn’t a clearly right answer. There are moments when you can see both sides, when you understand why everyone else is comfortable with something and part of you wants to be as well. You don’t want to be the overprotective dad. You don’t want your kid to miss out. And you certainly don’t want to become the standout parent who makes everyone else uncomfortable. But eventually you have to stop worrying about how your decision looks and ask yourself a much simpler question: What do I actually believe? That’s where I found myself this week.

It’s the Fourth of July weekend, and my 19-year-old son has been invited to spend the holiday at a ranch with his college and high school friends. They’re kids we know, from a family we’ve known for years, and it’s a place we’ve been before. The parents won’t be there this time – just grandparents in their 80s and an uncle overseeing the property. The agenda includes fireworks and firearms. The mom, whom I genuinely like and respect, asked every family to sign a liability waiver before the trip and even offered an alternative: if anyone wasn’t comfortable with those activities, their son could simply stay at the house while they took place. That’s a thoughtful gesture. It still isn’t enough for me.

Here’s where the decision gets complicated. My son is 19. He’s technically an adult, and part of growing up means doing things without your parents standing over you. I also remember exactly what I was like at 19, and “good judgment” wouldn’t have been anywhere near the top of my résumé. I don’t want to be the dad who keeps his son from having fun, but I also don’t want to be the dad who says, “Go ahead, just don’t do what everyone else is doing,” knowing full well that’s not a realistic expectation. I’ve thought through both options, and neither feels quite right.

What I keep coming back to is the reality of the situation. These kids have very little experience with firearms. I have some, and even after multiple training courses, a concealed carry permit and thousands of rounds on the range, I still consider myself a novice because I respect how much proficiency actually requires. My son understands the basics, but that’s about it. They’ll almost certainly be drinking, probably smoking weed, and they’ll be in a remote location where help isn’t exactly around the corner. I don’t know the uncle’s level of firearms experience, and I’m not willing to assume it’s enough. When I put all of those variables together, the math simply doesn’t work for me.

Part of the reason is that I’ve seen what complacency looks like before. Two years ago we let our son go to this same ranch because the parents were there. During the weekend one of the families sent a group text with a photo of all the boys on the range. Everyone was smiling and having a great time, but what immediately caught my eye wasn’t the smiles. Two of the boys had their fingers resting on the triggers.

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I intended to call the dad privately afterward. Man to man. No drama. Just a conversation about something I noticed. Instead, I made the mistake of replying to the group text. I wrote, “Fingers should always be indexed. Let’s talk. Not a picture I’d want to send.” The response came back almost immediately: “The guns weren’t loaded.”

I’ve thought about that answer ever since because, to me, it misses the point entirely. The first rule of firearm safety is that every gun is treated as though it’s loaded, always. Whether it actually is or isn’t doesn’t matter. At the same time, I also know I handled the situation poorly. That conversation belonged between two men, not in a family group chat. I called him afterward, apologized for how I raised it, and owned that mistake. It didn’t change how I felt about the issue, but I could have handled the relationship better.

The relationship has never really recovered. He probably thinks I’m difficult. I’ve found him to be a bit of a dick ever since. Maybe we both think the other guy is wrong. It’s funny how two men in their 50s and 60s can still struggle to disagree without letting it become personal. Midlife doesn’t magically make us better at those conversations. Sometimes it just makes us more aware of the tension.

So here’s where I’ve landed. My son is going to the ranch, but he won’t participate in the firearms or fireworks. I’ll have a direct conversation with the family – not to judge them or make a scene, but because honesty has always been easier for me than pretending I’m comfortable when I’m not. My son won’t love the decision, although I don’t think he cares nearly as much about the guns or fireworks as he does about simply being with his friends.

What midlife has taught me is that the hardest parenting decisions aren’t the ones where the answer is obvious. They’re the ones where you genuinely understand both sides, where you know exactly how your decision will be perceived by your kid, your friends and the other parents, and you’re tempted to go along simply because it’s easier. But eventually all of that falls away. What’s left is your own judgment, your own values and whether you’re willing to stand behind them, even when it’s uncomfortable.

I’d rather explain my reasoning than explain an accident.

Have a happy and safe Fourth of July weekend.

In Health, 

Greg Scheinman

Founder, Midlife Male

Husband. Father. Entrepreneur. Coach.

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