Own the Gap
I want to tell you about a pattern I’m not proud of.
I’m driving. Someone cuts me off, drives too fast, drives too slow, or does something careless that triggers my frustration. And in that moment — before I have time to think about it — something takes over. My grip tightens on the wheel. My voice changes. Sometimes a word (or two) comes out that I’d never say in polite company. Sometimes it’s just a tone — sharp, aggressive, disproportionate to what actually happened.
That’s bad enough on its own. But this is what changed me.
When Ryan or Katie were in the car with me, they wouldn’t say anything. They’d just watch. I could see them out of the corner of my eye, silent and bracing for what might come next. Not because they were afraid of the other driver. Because they didn’t know which version of their father would show up in that moment.
That image has stayed with me. My children, sitting beside me, bracing for my unpredictable reaction. Because in the space between what happened on the road and how I responded, they’d learned that anything could come out.
That’s when I started paying attention to something I’d been ignoring for years. There’s a space between what happens to me and how I respond. That space isn’t empty. It’s full of choice. And my children were watching how I used it.
The Space Between Stimulus and Response
Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who survived the Nazi concentration camps, wrote about this space. He observed a gap between stimulus and response. And in that gap lies our freedom to choose.
That idea has stayed with me for years, because it describes something I experience every day as a father. Something happens — an interruption, a frustration, a disappointment, a moment when patience runs thin — and there’s a split second before I respond. Most of the time, I barely notice it. The reaction feels automatic — it runs on patterns I picked up long before I was paying attention, a kind of default wiring I inherited and never stopped to examine. But automatic isn’t the same as inevitable. There’s a space. And what I do in that space matters more than I ever understood.
I call it owning the gap.
And I’ve come to see that this gap isn’t only about the car, or any single moment. The space between what happens and how I respond shows up everywhere — in how I answer my kids, how I treat Kelly when I’m stressed, and, underneath it all, in the distance between the father I am and the father I want to become. Life is full of these gaps. Owning them, one moment at a time, is how I slowly close that larger distance — how I become the man I actually want my children to remember.
The gap didn’t stop mattering when my kids grew up. If anything, it matters more. Ryan and Katie are adults now, with lives of their own. But the space between what happens and how I respond is still where our relationship gets built — or worn down. It’s in how I take a phone call that catches me off guard. How I react when one of them pushes back on something. Whether I get defensive or stay curious when they tell me something hard to hear. My kids are grown. The gap is still open. What I do with it still decides the kind of father they experience—and how close they want to be.
My Children Are Watching That Gap
This is what changed everything for me. My children aren’t just watching what happens. They’re watching how I handle what happens.
They watch how I respond when I’m tired, when someone disappoints me, and when life gets hard. They’re learning, in real time, what kind of man their father is — not from the words I say, but from the way I carry myself in the moments that test me.
When I respond calmly instead of with frustration, Ryan and Katie learn patience. When I accept responsibility instead of blaming someone else, they learn accountability. When I pause and choose my words instead of firing off the first thing I feel, they learn self-control. Those lessons don’t come from lectures. They come from observation, and the classroom is everyday life.
Your children may not remember every conversation you have with them, but they’ll remember the tone of your voice. The patience you showed. The character you demonstrated when life tested you. That’s what stays. And they don’t stop watching when they grow up — your adult kids still notice how you handle a hard moment, and it still shapes how much of themselves they bring to you.
The Moments I Got It Wrong
The car wasn’t the only place I got it wrong. It was just where I first noticed the pattern.
I’ve let bad days follow me home more times than I want to count. I’ve spoken to Kelly in a tone she didn’t deserve, and I’ve been short with my kids over things that didn’t matter. I’ve been the tension in the room without even realizing it, until I saw my family adjusting around me.
Those moments aren’t easy to write about, but I think it's important to be honest. Because owning the gap isn’t about being the father who never misses. It’s about being the father who notices when he does, takes responsibility, and comes back.
And no one talks about that part enough. The repair. The apology. The willingness to say, in front of your kids, “I was wrong. That wasn’t the man I want to be. I’m sorry.” That moment teaches your children something they’ll need for the rest of their lives: that a good man isn’t a man who never fails. A good man is a man who owns it when he does.
What Owning the Gap Builds
When a father starts to own the gap — even imperfectly, even inconsistently at first — something begins to shift.
If his kids are still at home, the house gets calmer and safer. If they’re grown, something else happens: they start to relax around him. They call more. They open up more. They stop bracing for which version of their father will pick up the phone.
Over time, this builds something deeper than a peaceful room. It builds trust. And grown children who trust their father — who’ve watched him respond thoughtfully, pause before reacting, own his own behavior — are children who want him in their lives. That trust is the whole foundation of a close relationship with an adult child.
That’s the real payoff of this work. Not a perfect record. A relationship your kids actually want.
The Invitation
I’m still learning to do this. I still have weeks where I miss more gaps than I own. But the trajectory has changed. And that’s what I want to offer you — not a finished formula, but a practice. A way to see the moments that used to control you and choose, one at a time, to meet them differently.
Every father will face a moment this week when something doesn’t go as planned. A tense phone call. A disagreement with one of your kids. A flash of frustration you didn’t see coming. When that moment comes, try this: pause for one second and ask yourself a single question.
What will my response build between me and my kids right now?
That question has changed me more than any book I’ve read or sermon I’ve heard. Not because it makes the moment easy. Because it makes the moment matter.
Own the gap. Because in that small space, fathers shape generations.
WHAT’S NEXT
In The Intentional Father newsletter, I go deeper into the Own the Gap framework — including the practical steps I use to actually live this out when life gets loud. If this idea resonated with you, the best content is still ahead.
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To explore more about Own the Gap, visit our Own the Gap webpage.
