If you look through the Contacts on my phone, you won’t find any number saved for “Dad.” To reach my father, I call a man known exclusively in our house as “Chief.”

Being the oldest son of Steve Muzio wasn’t always easy. There were constant eyeballs on my as “the pastor’s son,” and, as a child who got into an *occasional* bit of trouble, those eyeballs were not always wanted.

There were also pretty significant expectations. On the athletic field, I needed to be the best. In the classroom, I needed to be the best. In whatever arena I was put into, I needed to be a leader. Losing was not an option, and second place – or being “one of many” – was just another form of losing.

While I’ve always loved my father and considered him my “best friend” growing up, his perceived authoritarian persona earned him the semi-mocking moniker of “Chief” in my early teenage years when I gained a habit of mockery. (Those of you who know me now are likely shocked by this because I would never ever ever ever mock.)

Yet, I remember my perception of my father’s expectations taking a bit of a hit after my first high school football game.

As a freshman, I was maybe 6’0” and probably about 160lbs… starting at QB and LB for our Varsity team (we were a small school and didn’t have a JV team). My entire offensive line were also all freshmen, and they were my size or smaller. You could sense their panic when the other team came out for warmups. They were all Juniors or Seniors and all significantly bigger than us.

Their superiority showed from the first snap. I don’t know if I actually even threw a pass or if I got sacked every time I dropped back. I think I’ve blocked out most of the memories of that game that ended up with a score of “north of 60” to “exactly zero.”

But, after the game, my father – usually quick to share everything that I had done wrong and every area of improvement – gave me the biggest hug (which probably further cracked my then-shattered rib cage) and told me how proud of me he was.

In that moment – and many more since as I have “matured” (for me, one has to grade on a scale) – I realized that, for my father, it wasn’t about me being the best. It was imperative, though, that I be my best. And, he thought highly enough of me to see me in most environments as the one who, if I were truly operating at my best, would, in turn, be the best.

That was my father’s expectation of me, because that was, is, and always will be my Father’s expectation – to “do all things to the glory of God.”

Modern America has so wimpified the role of the father and the way we raise children. In an era where everyone gets a participation trophy (and boy I saw the consequences of that at the GOP Convention last weekend – where the losers are still whining and crying foul because they never learned how to accept and learn from defeat), we try to raise “nice” kids who “don’t veer too far” from the faith and are “happy.”

Instead, we should raise warriors for the Kingdom, zealous for the cause of Christ and His glory, impactful in the culture, and radiantly JOYFUL because of their whole-hearted devotion to His Word.

That’s how my father raised me. He wanted me to strive for excellence, in all things, to refuse to settle for “lesser” things, to acknowledge the lordship of Christ, to be willing to “take up my cross” for the sake of following Him, to celebrate being the son of the Living King, to be love and to cherish my wife, and to guard the hearts of my children.

He raised me through constant (incessant) teaching (which occasionally felt like nagging) but also through showing. My father is a man who never missed a critical moment in his children’s lives, who never missed a beat of husbanding or care as his wife battled mounting health woes, and who never prioritized a career – instead devoting his life to service.

That’s why he’s the Chief.

There’s a great song by Keith Urban called “A Song for Dad.” There are many lines in that song that resonate with me about picking up the mannerisms of one’s father and becoming more like them. My 16-year-old self would give my 36-year-old self a very hard time for how much I sound like my father sometimes.

But, there’s a line in there where he says “when someone says I hope I get to meet your dad; I just smile and say, you already have!”

When it comes to me and my father, those words would not hold true. I am simply a poor fraction of a reflection – not the real thing. Yet, every day and in every way, my father looms large in my life. He’s an inspiration behind everything I do, who I am, and very much who God used to draw me to Himself.

And, that’s the point of this email today.

Mother’s Day is SO worthy of celebration, but the crisis in America is poor fathering. Absentee dads are easy to blame, but it’s also “unintentional fathers” – those who, unlike my dad, don’t take every moment to teach, raise, train, lead, and shepherd. They are present, but they don’t shape.

If that’s you, change.

If you’re an intentional dad, know this – you are everything to your kid and you are changing the world with what you’re doing.

If you’re yet to be a dad, STRIVE to be that man to your kid.

If your children are grown, still father them! But, also take the time to mentor those who are younger.

On this Father’s Day, let’s act like men! It’s not about acknowledgment, it’s about resolve. Let’s be the best darn dads we can possibly be – waging war every single day for the souls, well-being, and lasting joy of our children.

We can do this!

Happy Father’s Day!

Cole Muzio

President, Frontline Policy Council

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