Family

The Tragedy of Parenting

Brian Stucki

Sep 20, 2026 — 2 min read

It's been one of those weeks when I think about having and raising kids, doing it the best you can, and then sending them out to the world. Few topics can occupy my brain the way this one does and has for a long time. You think about what you've done, what you didn't do, and what lies ahead.

Here are a few quotes I have collected over the years and visited again this week:

A movie I recently watched made this statement (from which the title of this post came):

“The tragedy of parenting is that we are only successful when we make ourselves irrelevant.”

And later on in that movie, a daughter tricked her dad into a counseling session and shared this heartbreaking observation about her childhood:

“Do you know how I know you didn’t want to spend time with me? Because you didn’t spend time with me.”

The hard truth of personal history.

A friend of mine spoke in church some time ago. He was a shorter stature but a giant of a man. He raised good children of his own and also helped other parents when they needed it. His advice:

The shadow of a father is more important than anything he has to say.

This wisdom has never left my mind and had a big influence on why we did 80 days around the world as a family.

The well known inventor and businessman Charles Kettering warned:

"Every father should remember one day his son will follow his example, not his advice.”

I wrote a Fatherhood Checklist just a few weeks after my first child was born. I wonder all the time if my actions have lived up to it.

Another friend of mine spoke in church about Lot, his wife, and the story of their family in the Old Testament. It included losing children and others partly in response to his hesitation to follow the Lord:

"Lot was a foolish, foolish father. If he had only known the price of pitching that tent toward Sodom."

The decisions we make when our children are between 8 and 18 years old have such long-lasting effects. Choose wisely.

An article I read quoted a mother, recounting the day her son left for college, wondering how he would be received by new friends:

"Would those friends make fun of him, or would they recognize that he was loved?"

I think about the second half of that question whenever I meet a new person who is difficult to understand or befriend. I also think about it when I see someone else see my kids for what I know they are. The quickest way to my heart is to appreciate and love my children.

My Great-Grandpa Tingey used to say: