I Wasn't a Super Dad This Week

A story of imperfection.

I wasn’t a Super Dad this week.
My son told me he was in pain, and I didn’t believe him.
I brushed it off, assuming he was just trying to get out of doing something. My thoughts, my feelings, my stress, those came first. His feelings didn’t get a look-in. And when I finally realised what was really going on, I felt awful. I’d dismissed him. I’d missed him.

I bang on a lot about how perfection is a myth. That we’re all going to mess up, and what matters most is what we do next. Well, this was my moment. My moment to get it wrong. I created a rupture, a disconnect between us. A moment when he reached out, I didn’t meet him there.

We were away at the caravan this week. After a long winter of salt, wind, and the generous deposit of whatever that tree above us keeps dropping, the van was looking rough. So Mrs Super Dad and I got stuck into cleaning it up.

I was on the stepladder, not my favourite place if I’m honest. I’ve always preferred the steady company of the ground. Ten feet in the air, with a bucket in one hand and mild anxiety in the other, I wasn’t exactly feeling zen.

We noticed it was time to take the dog out. So we asked the kids to walk him around the loop. A fairly standard request. They grumbled, as teens and pre-teens do, but off they went.

Just before they left, my son told me his foot hurt.
I assumed it was just a tactic to get out of walking. I dismissed it. Told him to take responsibility—it’s his dog, after all.

They came back, and I sent them out again. Told them they needed some fresh air.
He told me his foot was really sore.
I told him to stop moaning and get on with it.
I didn’t even look up from the ladder.

Later, when we’d finished the clean-up, he was still limping. Still upset. Still complaining.
Turns out his toenail was growing into the edge of his toe. And yes, it hurt. A lot. Once we trimmed it, he finally got some relief.

And he was cross with me. Rightly so. I’d ignored him. I’d made assumptions.
And I could see in his eyes that something between us had been dented.

Here’s the truth: I was distracted.
Trying not to fall off a ladder. Juggling jobs. Managing my own anxiety about being ten feet off the ground.
But in the middle of all that, I didn’t leave any room for his feelings.

I could have come down.
I could have asked him to show me.
I could have said, “Let me take the dog this time.”

It would have taken ten minutes.
Ten minutes to show him he matters.
Ten minutes to say: your pain is valid.
Ten minutes to protect our connection.

But I didn’t.
And in that moment, he turned to his mum instead.
And I understood why.

Later, he asked me why I didn’t believe him.
I told him the truth: “Sometimes, when you complain a lot about doing things, I get it wrong. I assume this is one of those times. And I shouldn’t have.”

I didn’t mention the ladder or the stress in that moment. But it’s clearer to me now as I write this.

And thankfully, it gave me a chance to repair.
To tell him: Even when I mess up, I love you. I care about us. And I’m willing to say sorry.

I said, “I shouldn’t have assumed. I should’ve listened. I should’ve come down and checked. I was wrong. And I’m really sorry.”

And it was okay again.
Because the repair matters.
It teaches just as much, if not more, than getting it right the first time.

There’ll be plenty of days when you miss the mark. When you’re tired, distracted, overwhelmed, or stressed.
Aim for the bullseye, but know that what matters most is this: even if you miss, as long as you’re showing up, staying open, and willing to repair, you’re still hitting the board.
And that’s what counts.

Reflective Questions

• When was the last time I assumed rather than asked?

• How do I tend to respond when I’m feeling stressed or preoccupied? Do I shut down? Snap? Miss things?

• How do I usually repair with my children when I’ve caused a rupture?

• What gets in the way of me truly hearing my child in the moment?

• How do I show my children that their feelings matter, even when I’m juggling my own?

• What would stepping off the ladder (literally or metaphorically) look like in my day-to-day parenting?

• How do I want my children to remember me when they’re grown? What stories will they tell about how I listened, showed up, or said sorry?

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Need a Hand? You’re Not on Your Own

If this story landed with you—if you've had a moment like this, or if you’re trying to be the kind of dad who listens better, repairs quicker, and shows up more fully—you're in the right place.

You don’t have to figure all this out by yourself. I work with dads every day who are trying to be better than the role models they had. Dads who want stronger relationships, less shouting, more connection, and a bit of support along the way.

If that sounds like something you need, drop me a message. Let’s talk about how coaching can help you be the dad you want to be, imperfect, present, and making it count.

You’re not alone. And you’re already doing better than you think by even reflecting on this.