THE BLOG

“I Was Wrong, Son”: The Accountability That Builds Trust and Respect

Oct 31, 2025

It’s one of the hardest things for a father to say out loud: “I was wrong.”

But if you’re raising a teenage son, those three words can do more to build trust and connection than just about anything else.

Most of us didn’t grow up seeing that kind of vulnerability from the men in our lives. We learned to be strong, stoic, and in control. We were told that “father knows best”, so admitting fault can feel like failure. But I’ve come to learn that it’s just the opposite.

Taking responsibility when you mess up is one of the strongest things you can do as a dad.

The Mistake I Made with My Son (Brian’s Story)

When Avery was 15, we had one of those moments. He’d been staying up too late and I was concerned he wasn’t taking school seriously. One morning, I snapped at him. I laid into him about responsibility, commitment, all the things I thought I was supposed to say.

But later that day, it hit me. I wasn’t actually angry about school. I was overwhelmed. I was burned out from work, dealing with my own stress, and I had taken it out on him.

That night, I walked into his room and just said, “Son, I was wrong. I overreacted. That wasn’t about you.” And I meant it.

He looked up from his phone, nodded slowly, and said, “Thanks for saying that.” It wasn’t dramatic. No long speech. But something shifted between us. He saw that I was willing to own my part. That I didn’t see myself as above the conversation. That I respected him enough to admit when I missed the mark.

That moment did more to build trust than any lecture I could’ve given.

Why This Matters (Especially with Teen Boys)

Teenage boys are smart. They see through us. They feel when something’s off, even if they don’t know how to talk about it yet.

When we avoid accountability, blaming them, shutting down, and getting defensive, they don’t just get frustrated. They start to pull away. They stop sharing. They build walls.

But when we show up honestly? When we say, “I blew that,” or “I could’ve handled that better”? We open the door for deeper connection.

That’s how you raise a son who isn’t afraid to take ownership himself. The type of boy who learns that manhood doesn’t mean perfection. It means humility, courage, and self-respect.

What Accountability Looks Like in Real Life

Here’s what I’ve learned to practice and what we share with other dads:

  • Say the actual words. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Don’t water it down. Let him hear you mean it.
  • Take full ownership. No “but you also…” Just own your part.
  • Keep it short and real. You don’t need a speech. You need sincerity.
  • Invite conversation. Ask, “How did that land for you?” or “What do you need from me next time?”

This isn’t about being soft. It’s about being strong enough to be real.

From Son to Man (Avery’s Perspective)

Growing up, I didn’t need my dad to be perfect. I needed to know he saw me.

There were times he got it wrong. But what made the difference was what he did after. When he apologized, I didn’t feel smaller, I felt respected. It showed me that I mattered to him not just as his son, but as a person.

As I’ve grown into adulthood, I’ve carried that lesson with me. Not just in how I treat my dad, but in how I show up in my friendships, my work, and eventually how I’ll show up with my own family.

The dads who are willing to own their mistakes? They’re the ones who earn their sons’ trust.

One Final Thought for Fathers

If you’ve been hard on yourself for not getting it all right, you’re not alone. No dad does. What matters most is how you show up after the fact.

So the next time there’s a blow-up, a quiet drive home, or just that gut feeling that something wasn’t handled right, go back. Knock on his door. Sit on the edge of the bed. And say the words:

“I was wrong, son. I want to do better.”

He may not show it right away. But those words land. They plant seeds. And they might just be the start of a new kind of relationship—the kind you’ve both been needing.

We are rooting for you!

Avery and Brian