There was a kid running at the neighborhood pool the other day. The pool attendant asked him to walk — as pool attendants have done since pools existed. The boy's dad — a big-chested, serious kind of guy — came over to the attendant and told him (I swear I'm not making this up), that as the child’s father, he's the only one to tell his kid what to do, and that if the attendant has something to say, it should be directed at him, don't talk to his kid; he'll decide if his kid needs direction.
And the very best part:
I don't mean to brag, but my high schooler fails at quite a few things. None of them too epic, but there's still time. We talked about it recently. I told him it's my job to let him fail while he’s still at home with me, because he needs to learn how to lose his shit and then pick it up and move forward.