After returning from an assignment overseas, my growing family moved into a house with a bonus room in the basement. In a life defined by the cramped quarters of Navy ships and energetic elementary-age boys at home, space and quiet were luxuries. This alcove had both, and before long, it was a man cave.
I filled it with pennants and memorabilia, sprawled iconic sports photos across the sheetrock. On one side was the “I love me” wall common in military homes, filled with plaques and framed commendations. The room became a personal escape from a restless world. The door was never locked but always closed.
My family was welcome, of course. I loved when my sons joined me to watch the game — and also when they tired of it and wandered off to do other things. Is that the sign of a bad dad?
All I knew was that the time alone was rejuvenating. I’d often emerge a new man, the day’s stresses shed like loose change in the couch cushions. My father’s tendency to slip away to his favorite spot outside when my siblings and I were growing up made more sense. Now I understood it less as withdrawal and more as a need for a breath. We Gen X fathers didn’t invent the home retreat so much as refine it, adding a flatscreen and a mini-fridge and rebranding the isolation as self-care.
It was all easy to rationalize: The solitude made me a better father, more available when it mattered most. While attempting to shield our families from the weight brought home from work, the dads of my generation risk quietly modeling our stoic fathers, men who loved their families and best expressed it by just being around. Our kids, though, desire more. A UCLA study released last week found that Gen Z and Gen Alpha adolescents want to see fathers enjoying parenting and showing love to their kids. “For today’s young audiences, the most compelling hero isn’t the one standing alone,” the study’s lead author observed, “but the one who has the courage to be present.” That can be hard to see from the other side of closed doors.
Then, we moved again, this time to a place with an unfinished basement — a cavernous concrete area that became part play space for the boys, part workout studio for Mom, and part game day spot for Dad. The “I love me” wall was replaced by stick figure drawings in crayon, superhero rugs and cleats with smells defying description. As the boys aged, it became their lounge, a cave of their own. And the teen years brought video games and inside jokes and brothers-only movie nights — no dads allowed.
When your boys are becoming men, the pressure to get fatherhood right grows. Sensing the change, I threw myself into their worlds — fishing and football and superhero movies. Parenthood doesn’t come with a manual, but erring on the side of presence seemed like the best move. Deployments and work, however, sometimes got in the way. So, I tried to fill the missed time with a standing invitation: “You know you can always talk to me, right?” That’s how Gen X leaves the door open.
Then, once again, we moved — our last one in the military. The next house’s main attraction was the adjoining nooks in a comfortable basement, for parents and young men alike. We got to work making it home, filling the room with posters and memorabilia. Before long, sports photos of the boys in action stretched across one wall. On another, commendations for some of their achievements. And while there were no more deployments for me, the young men got busier — there were driver’s licenses and practices and a generation convening on smartphones from their rooms. Just as the stars aligned to build the perfect man cave, I no longer had use for one.
The house quieter, teens behind their doors, my retreat moved to the living room. It’s my favorite spot in the house now and helps me shake off the day. There, I learned that two things are guaranteed to get them out of their rooms — the smell of food and the sound of the game. Those memories are some of the best the house has seen. They loved it when we watched the game together — and also when their Gen X dad dozed off before halftime so they could go recharge in solitude.
The youngest of the bunch turns 18 soon, which means the nest will be empty. Graduations and adulthood have turned adolescent bedrooms into quiet spaces that are always open. Home is a retreat for them now — a place where they can escape to and shed life’s stresses. And that’s where I think the answer is: Maybe the sign of a good dad is having children who love coming home.
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