The Pain We Carry. The Dads We Become.
On Adolescence, and building a home where no one needs to prove their manhood
Adolescence swept the Emmys last weekend, taking home eight awards, including a well-deserved Outstanding Supporting Actor award for Owen Cooper, who brought young Jamie to life in such vivid detail. The show’s presence continues to be felt six months after its release. During the summer, it was the first point of conversation when talking to dads closest to me: had they seen it, how had it made them feel about the trials of raising children, how were they planning to navigate the new dangers facing this next generation?
The role of a father has historically been to protect. Genetics decreed it so: we were bigger, more powerful; it was up to us to ensure the safety of our partners, our children, our tribe from the myriad threats the outside world could inflict upon us. But that was then. This is now. Once again, for those at the back, Article One in the Constitution of The New Fatherhood: for this generation of dads, things are very different. (Don’t make me tap the sign.)
Adolescence didn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it defined the parameters of the problem: the insidious threats, new and old, that put our kids at risk. We may have always been protectors, but today, in this world, your physical strength won’t help you. You can’t punch a profile photo, and the perils our children face are bigger, badder, and realer than the rap music and videogame boogiemen that our parents were taught to fear.
For many dads—myself included—the show was a reminder of the tough work we continue to undertake. It’s all too easy to pin the blame on the manosphere or the failing school system. That’s not to say they don’t play their part. But the true interrogation should be pointed towards ourselves and the parents who came before us. It’s not that Jamie’s dad, Eddie, was a bad dad. He was present. He tried his best. But, ultimately, he was oblivious. Oblivious to what was happening outside the house, in the form of Jamie’s peers and the dark corners of the internet he was frequenting. And oblivious to the threats coming from inside the house, too. The way Jamie felt about himself was a curse handed down to his father from generations past.
This is the work: we strive to understand ourselves better, and our place as agitators and rabble-rousers in the lineage of fathers who came before and will continue in our wake. We strive to do better. Since becoming a dad, I’ve sought out others who felt the same—I started this newsletter because I knew more of us out there. Sam is one of the many I have met along the way. He arrived here, like others, after struggling as a new dad, searching for answers when it felt like few were on offer. Sam has been a big part of our community from the early days, and has consistently shown up for himself, for his family, and for the other dads lucky enough to come into his orbit.
When we discussed Adolescence in the Dadscord, Sam shared how the show had brought up long-dormant feelings connected to the boy he was, the dad he wants to be, and the son he wants to raise. We wrestle every day with the totems of fatherhood under whose shadows we were raised. We commit ourselves to the work of leaving fatherhood better than we found it, raising sons who can carry the torch once we’re done. If this sounds like you, then you’d benefit from surrounding yourself with a bunch of dads like this, so come join our tribe.
I invited Sam to keep digging and asked if he’d be open to sharing it with all of you. I am delighted he said yes.
Six months ago, every parent and every educator in the country was talking about Adolescence, Netflix's smash miniseries. Last weekend, Owen Cooper became the youngest male Emmy winner in history for his portrayal of Jamie, a 13-year-old boy accused of murdering a female classmate. Adolescence earned its many accolades by shining a damning light on British education and culture, and it also opened up some old wounds I'd thought were long healed.
As the father of a four-year-old boy, I have a few years before I have to worry about the world the show depicts. But this month, we packed up my son's lunchbox, marked his height on his bedroom doorframe, and set him firmly on that path. An undoubtedly soon-to-be familiar mix of pride and terror filled me as I watched him walk through those gates, into a place where he will grow and thrive, laugh and cry, and win and lose—all without my protection.
Day one of school is a long walk to age thirteen, but these are his first steps on that journey. Thirteen is the age I fear most for him. That age, that stretch of high school, nearly broke me. The show stirred up what I hadn’t let myself feel in decades. Like Jamie, I grew up a working-class son of a tradesman, living in a council house. My mum was a full-time carer for my disabled sister; my dad worked day and night to support his family. I'd wave him and the boys off to work each morning, watching through tobacco-stained net curtains as they sped off in the van, and often I wouldn't see him again until the next morning. My mum had her hands full with my sister, and I did everything in my power to be a good boy and not add to her list. I kept my head down and my troubles to myself, as best I could.
School was not a safe environment. Ages 12-14 were especially relentless. I was beaten and belittled by the boys. I was shunned and laughed at by the girls. Every day, I was told that I was weak and worthless, that I was weird and ugly. That I was poor. There are only so many times a young man can be told he's a piece of shit before he starts to believe it. I was an easy target: the poor kid. Quiet. Shy. A little eager to please, maybe. I was what parenting powerhouse Dr Becky would call a Deeply Feeling Kid, and I'm sure I wore the pain they inflicted, beautifully, all over my face.
Inevitably, my parents had some idea of what was going on. They saw torn clothes and fat lips. They watched me retreat inward, as their bubbly little boy became a sullen and brooding teenager. My dad made it very clear throughout this period that I was not masculine enough for his liking. Crying would not be tolerated. He wanted me to stand up for myself. To “be a man.” He certainly wasn't available as someone I could speak to about what I was going through, about my feelings. He wanted me to go out and play sports, but was embarrassed when I was crap at it. The football story in the show could have been taken straight from my diary at that age—I still feel genuine panic any time I have to interact with a ball.
Safe to say, I saw a lot of myself in Jamie.
I'd love to think that the manosphere wouldn't have taken me in if I were that age today. That my morals would win out, that my intelligence and reasoning would protect me. But I remember the daily, unrelenting torment in school. I remember the desperation to belong somewhere. I remember the fear of walking between classrooms, or between home and school. And then I remember coming home and seeing the shame in my dad's eyes that I'd not stuck up for myself, again. That I wasn't man enough.
I was lucky to have come of age in the 1990s. FHM had some pretty questionable content when it came to influencing the young men of 19981, but I can't imagine what I’d have thought if the Andrew Tates of the world were available back then. Providing the two things I was desperate for: identity and community. Bad actors offering someone else to blame and teaching me to be a "man" instead of shunning me for being weak. I can't say with confidence that I wouldn't have been swept up in it.
I hadn't really remembered my dad's part in my misery all those years ago, until I saw Eddie, Jamie’s father in the show. It's quite alarming for me to consider it now. It's not necessarily anything my dad did—but it's more what he didn't. It was, as I felt it, the absence of love, support, security, and protection. To grow up believing that your father thinks you're weak and less than a man makes for a pretty tough adolescence. Especially when it seems like the rest of the world agrees. It taught me that it was shameful to be vulnerable, to show emotion, to be my authentic self. And I still live with that shame today.
My dad and I have a great relationship now, but it took me moving out and standing up for myself against him to reach this point. Maybe that was the validation he needed—that he'd raised a man after all. I don't know. Regardless, it's ancient history. As much as he made mistakes with my upbringing, I don't hold it against him. I do believe that he was doing what he thought was right. My parents did the best they could with the tools they had. I've got better tools now, though. So I strive to do better for my son. No matter how much it scares me.
Six months on, the lasting impact of Adolescence has been in the questions that continue to spin around my head. How can I guide my son through those formative years, when I barely made it through my own? How can I send him into high school in good conscience, knowing how much that experience hurt me then, and continues to affect me now, a quarter of a century later? How can I possibly walk back through those gates, this time with someone I care about infinitely more than I ever cared about myself?
I don't think there are any easy answers, other than continuing the work that I'm doing on myself: at home, in therapy, in men's groups. But I do think the one thing I've got going for me (that my dad never had, or wanted) is having other involved dads in my life, both online and IRL, who I can look to as role models, who I can come to for guidance, support and understanding. That gives me confidence that I can handle what comes next. But fuck me, am I terrified.
It's too early to know what kind of father I'll be to a teenager, but one thing I’m committed to is building a home where questions can be asked without judgment, where no one needs to prove their manliness to be heard. A place where my son can be confident living as his unequivocal self, able to weather whatever the outside world throws at him.
In conclusion: Wow, great show. 10/10. I will never watch it again.
This is The New Fatherhood
The more I write for you all, read essays like Sam’s, and talk to the dads who have come into my life as part of this newsletter, the more I realise that this, right here, is what needs to be done. We’ve grown up with models of fatherhood that are no longer fit for purpose. Traditions passed on, painfully, often unwittingly. Many live today navigating the world while picking up what was shattered during their childhood and attempting to put those pieces back together. We must learn to open Pandora’s Box and do whatever we can to ensure we pass on what will help our children, and not what will hinder them.
And I’m increasingly certain this work is nigh-on impossible alone. We need to support one another, walk shoulder-to-shoulder across this rocky terrain, become vulnerable and show our broken parts for all to see, in the hope that it can help others. As I’ve learned from those I’ve gotten to know better over the years, we need more than just new ideas and methods to deal with our emotions (many that we’re understanding in their breadth and infinite depth for the first time). We need better role models, people out there raising the bar of what it means to be a dad today. We need to be able to look around and see more of the kind of dads we aspire to be, to surround ourselves with others who believe that life is all the richer, and better, because of our kids—even if they do make it so much harder
If you read this newsletter every week, what you see is the tip of the iceberg, a passing glimpse of the conversations we have with one another: whether in a chat window, or as part of the dads’ circles we’re now running regularly. Over the last few months, we’ve covered (checks the forum posts) childhood ADHD and the choice to medicate, chores and punishment (back then and today), the ever-present toilet training and sleep regression queries, dealing with burnout and parental overwhelm, fear of a world in decline, teaching our kids about grief after the loss of a parent, and so much more.
Seeing these few hundred dads from around the world show up for each other every day reminds me how essential it is that we show up for one another. Having this group of dads come together in a space where we can work out and model the type of men we want to be, and the children we want to raise, has been something I never knew how much I needed.
Dads need dads, too. I’d love nothing more than for you to join us.
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If you’re looking for more on Adolescence, you can read Dan’s essay from back in March.
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I’ll be sharing all of these with Sam, so if you’d like to share something anonymously, use one of those five links. If you’d prefer to share your thoughts with all of us, then hit that comment button below.
Editor's note: I think you’ll find the Gillian Anderson FHM cover came out in 1996. It definitely had an impact on the 13-year-old Kevin.