Last Updated on July 18, 2026 by Van Phillips
Back in 2023, I sat down and wrote about why parents matter — why the presence, the investment, the day-to-day grind of raising a child is the foundation everything else gets built on. That piece came from theory, from conviction, from watching the neighborhood and knowing in my bones that the home is where the real curriculum lives.
Three years is a long time in a child’s life. My son just turned 13. He’s stepping into the 8th grade this fall, and he’s been valedictorian every single year since he started elementary school. Every. Single. Year.
So I figured it was time to come back to this piece — not to rewrite the theory, but to show you the receipts.
The Journey Wasn’t a Straight Line
Let me be honest with you, because that’s the only way I know how to write. This wasn’t some smooth, Pinterest-perfect parenting journey. My son’s mother and I don’t always see eye to eye on how to raise him. We’ve had our disagreements — real ones, about discipline, about screen time, about how much structure a kid needs versus how much room he needs to just be a kid. That friction is real, and I’m not going to sit here and pretend co-parenting is easy just because the results look good on paper.
Two people don’t have to agree on every method to agree on the mission. That’s the part nobody tells you.
But here’s what I’ve learned watching this play out: those different parenting views weren’t a weakness in the system. They were part of what built the system.
What Each of Us Brought to the Table
I started my son off early — real early — with educational material. I was never satisfied with him working at grade level. I’d hand him workbooks a year, sometimes two years ahead of where he was supposed to be. Not to push him past his childhood, but because I believe a mind that’s used to reaching for something slightly out of comfortable range never learns to settle.
His mother brought something different, and honestly, something I couldn’t have given him the same way. She got him into drawing and playing the drums. Creative expression. The kind of thing that doesn’t show up on a report card but shapes how a person thinks, how they process the world, how they find an outlet when words aren’t enough.
And me — I leaned into building. Legos, specifically. People underestimate what a bin of interlocking plastic bricks does for a developing mind. It’s spatial reasoning, it’s problem-solving, it’s the patience to follow a set of instructions and the confidence to eventually go off-script and build something nobody designed for you. I think that’s an underrated pillar of creativity — not just drawing what you imagine, but constructing it, piece by piece, and figuring out why it falls apart when you get it wrong.
| What We Brought | Who | What It Built |
|---|---|---|
| Advanced workbooks (1-2 grades ahead) | Me | Academic confidence, comfort with challenge |
| Drawing & drums | His mother | Creative expression, emotional outlet |
| Legos & building | Me | Spatial reasoning, patient problem-solving |
| Structure & discipline | Both, differently | Balance, resilience |
Put together, that’s not a contradiction. That’s a full education.
Two Parents, Different Views, Same Household
I still believe — strongly — that children benefit from having both parents in the household. Not because a single parent can’t raise a great kid; plenty do, and do it well. But because two parents bring two sets of eyes, two sets of values, two different ways of seeing the same problem. That friction I mentioned earlier? It’s not just tension. It’s also texture. It’s stability wrapped in perspective.
That said, I’m not naive, and I’m not going to write something dishonest just to make a point. If two people genuinely cannot get along — if the household becomes a place of conflict instead of a place of grounding — then splitting up might genuinely be the better outcome for the child. Kids read the room. They know when the air is heavy. A peaceful home led by one parent will always beat a tense home led by two.
The goal was never “stay together no matter what.” The goal was always “give this child what he needs to thrive.”
The Sacrifice Doesn’t Ask for a Return
I’ve sacrificed for my son. Time, money, sleep, plans I put on the shelf so he could have what he needed when he needed it. I don’t say that looking for credit. I say it because I hope one day — when he’s grown, when he’s out there building his own life — he understands what went into getting him there. And more than understanding it, I hope he pays it forward. Not to me. To whoever comes after him.
I also can’t, and won’t, discount what his mother has sacrificed. Whatever our differences, she has poured into this child in ways only she could. This isn’t a story about who did more. It’s a story about two people who, despite not always agreeing on the how, never once wavered on the why.
The Real Goal Was Never the Trophy
People see “valedictorian every year” and they think that’s the win. It’s not. That’s a byproduct.
The actual goal — the one that keeps me up figuring out what workbook to buy next, what conversation to have next — is making sure my son has the tools to survive on his own once he’s an adult. To be productive. To be capable. To be someone who can walk into a room, a job, a relationship, a crisis, and handle it because somebody took the time to build that foundation with him early.
Grades fade. Trophies get boxed up in a closet. What doesn’t fade is whether a person can stand on their own two feet when nobody’s watching.
That’s the blueprint. Not perfect parents. Not perfect agreement. Just two people who never stopped showing up, in their own way, for the same kid.
This is an update to my 2023 piece on parental importance — same conviction, now with a few more years of proof behind it.
