Several years ago I heard a father talk about something that his wife would do to encourage their son. I liked it, and I adopted it. Let me tell you about it.
My son Kyle is seven, and we have a little ritual that we like to go through. It’s a moment that he and I often share. But every so often, late at night, as I’m tucking him into bed and we are sharing those special bonding moments, I will tell him, “Kyle I want you to picture a long line of little boys. You’re standing in that line. And there are every kind of little boy in that line. There are tall boys and short boys, boys with blond hair and boys with brown hair. There are boys that are good at music, or good at sports. There are boys that are smart, and some that aren’t so smart. There are boys with nice clothes and boys with big smiles. And there are hundreds and hundreds of these boys. And you’re in that line with them. Now here’s the thing Kyle, I get to pick any one of those boys to be my son. I wonder which one I should choose? I could choose this boy who is tall or this one who is short. I could choose one down here, or one over there. Which one should I choose to be my son?
And we have done this ten times, and ten times, even though he knows the answer, he looks at me like “I hope you pick me.” And I play it up for a long time, and then finally, with a grin on his face, he asks as if he’s never heard the answer, “Which one do you choose dad?” And I always say, “Kyle, I choose you.”