Raising Boys in a World That Doesn't Know What to Do with Men

The moment that made it real for me was small. Last week my son, just nine years old, asked if crying makes him weak. Not in a dramatic way, he was just curious. But in that one question was the whole mess of modern masculinity laid bare. How the hell is a boy, still learning his times tables and building Lego, already confused about whether being vulnerable disqualifies him from being strong?

And then it hit me - our world doesn’t know what to do with men, so how could it possibly know what to do with boys?

I wasn’t given a map for this either. Like most men my age, I was raised by a father who equated love with provision and presence with authority. He was and is a good man, and I love him dearly, but emotional transparency wasn’t part of his skill set. My mother filled in the emotional gaps with hugs, intuition, and a kind of protective softness that made me feel wanted. From her I learned empathy. From him I learned stoicism. But what I didn’t learn was how to bring the two together in a way that made sense as a man.

When I became a dad, I brought all that with me, the stoic silence, the pressure to provide, the fear of failing. For a long time, I thought being a good father was about presence and protection. But the older my sons get, the more I realise that presence without emotional honesty is just a shell. A man who’s there but not truly there.

And the punchline? I see myself in them. I see the early signs of withdrawing when they areupset, the flaring of anger when they feel misunderstood. I see them modelling me. And that scares the shit out of me.

So Ive started doing the work. Not just on myself, but in the conversations I have with them. Not just teaching them how to chop wood and use a hand saw, but how to say "I feel sad" without shame. How to know the difference between strength and suppression. How to be powerful without being dominant.

I share with them the hard stuff, too. Not all the gory details, but enough of my own story so they know I’m not perfect. They know I failed in my first marriage, that I walked through shame and grief and loss to get to a better place. And they know that being a good man isn’t about never making mistakes, it’s about owning them.

And guess what, that's the heart of it... accountability. If I want my boys to grow up with integrity, then I have to show them what it looks like. I can’t outsource that to a school, a YouTube channel, or a rugby coach (although I do acknowledge these have their place). They learn it by watching me take responsibility for my words and actions. For my moods. For how I treat their mum.

Raising boys in this era is really complex. They’re growing up in a world where masculinity is often treated as a problem to solve rather than a gift to cultivate. But masculinity isn't the enemy. The lack of healthy masculinity is.

So here’s what I’m teaching them:

• That strength includes the courage to admit when you're wrong.
• That it’s okay to feel lost sometimes, but it’s not okay to stay silent about it.
• That crying doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
• That being a man isn't about dominance, its about conviction grounded in values. It’s having a compass, not a whip

And perhaps most importantly -  that loving others well starts with understanding and loving yourself.

The world won’t hand our sons a roadmap. It won’t tell them how to lead with kindness, hold boundaries with grace, or sit in discomfort without numbing it with distraction.

That’s our job. As fathers. As men. As the flawed but willing role models they’re watching.

We don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be present, honest, and brave enough to grow alongside them.

Because if we don’t show them what a good man looks like, someone else will show them what a bad one does.

And in this world, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.