As I sat there considering my next move, it occurred to me that I needed to do something quickly. The deafening sound of silence reminded all of us that an ugly moment had just occurred. And a voice inside me continued to insist that my kids were at fault.

"OK, you two, I'm sorry I yelled like that, what a dumb thing to do!" As I moved toward my son, it became evident that he wanted no part of me. "Get away from me!" he shouted.

I thought better of telling him not to yell at me, so I did only thing I could think of doing. "Crabby Daddy is back," I proclaimed as I transformed my hands into pincers and crawled in crab-like fashion towards them. "I love to yell at children, then eat them!"

My son continued to yell at me to go away, but now he was laughing and crying simultaneously. My mission to undo damage my yelling had caused was underway. I’d been able to recover quickly this time, but I knew that this moment would be remembered for awhile.

Most importantly, I wanted to remember what had really happened. What happened was that I wasn’t disciplined. I failed to control my emotions in a way that my children could emulate.

Were my children misbehaving? Absolutely. Is there a part of me that wants to blame them and let them know how badly they were acting? No question. But this is part of me that serves my ego. It shows my children how to avoid responsibility and blame others. It’s not my “best self.”

And it’s our best self which we must always search for when we’re with our children.

“As a father of two teens, I've enjoyed your insight on fatherhood. I was raised in a loving family environment, but just as you indicated, my father was primary breadwinner and "backbone" of family, not an emotional type. As a child, I never saw him cry or appear weak, nor did he ever utter words "I love you". It was just not in his vocabulary, though I never doubted his love for any of us.

It was not until his last hours on this earth, nearly 9 years ago, that I saw him cry for first time. Suffering from side effects of leukemia, I was visiting him in his hospital room.

As I sat on side of his bed feeding him ice chips and jello cubes by spoon, it occurred to me that we had reversed roles. He was no longer caring for my needs, but I was there to help him with a basic need.

We talked about things that we'd never discussed previously and as I was preparing to return home to my family for night, I turned to him and said "I love you". He smiled and nodded his approval as I exited his room for last time.