The Day I Became the Parent I Used to Judge
I used to think micro-managing, dictatorial stage moms were some of the worst people on the planet…
Until I became one.
My son, Zion, was confirmed at our church on Easter Sunday.
To prepare, I bought him a new suit jacket, white shirt, and black pants.
I let him borrow one of my ties.
I even helped write his confirmation speech.
Everything was in order.
Until Easter Sunday arrived.
Zion had picked up a cold from spring break camp and felt miserable.
I thought I’d have to drag him out of bed.
Instead, he got up and got dressed.
That’s when I lost my mind.
I kept trying to tie the perfect Windsor knot.
If the smallest detail was off, I untied it and started over.
Again.
And again.
At one point, I had to untie my own tie just to remember how to do it.
Finally—perfect.
Then I noticed the back of the tie was torn.
Nope. Not happening.
We switched ties… and repeated the whole process.
Then I couldn’t get his collar straight.
We eventually had to leave for church with it slightly off, and I spent the entire drive staring at it in the rearview mirror…
while Zion probably wondered why his father was acting like a crazy person.
(Shoutout to his grandmother for fixing it when we got there.)
Then I realized—I forgot his speech.
Luckily, he remembered.
Unluckily, he brought two versions.
So right before he went on stage, I was walking him through last-minute edits.
Then he walked up.
He looked sharp.
He adjusted on the fly.
He delivered.
And as I stood there recording…
My hands were trembling.
In ten years of games, concerts, and performances—
that had never happened before.
I guess this one meant more.
To all the “stage moms” I used to judge…
I get it now.
And to the micromanagers (at home or at work):
It’s not really about control.
It’s about caring so much
that you’re afraid anything less than perfect might take away from the moment.
But here’s what I learned:
The moment doesn’t need to be perfect to matter.
Sometimes…
it’s the imperfections that make you feel it the most.