Do It The Right Way: My Dad On Raising Me

To be honest, I never saw this coming, and neither did he.

It’s been one hell of a ride.

I thought I knew my story, but I asked my dad to write his perspective on what it was like to watch me grow up, to raise me, and to see my life through his eyes.

Reading it reminded me of how far I’ve come, how much I’ve fought through, and how no matter how clearly we think we see ourselves, there’s always another angle that can change everything.

His words are a window into that world, from the backyard to the boardroom, from the early days to what’s still unfolding. It’s a tribute to the moments that shape us, and to the people who show up, especially when we’re still figuring it all out.

FROM MY DAD:

Nothing in our family DNA and especially my own prepared me for the combination of athletic ability and determination my youngest son, Eric, brought to everything he did in sports. From an early age, he showed surprising talent.

He would watch a game on TV with intense focus, then head outside and mimic what he saw with surprising accuracy. Even at a young age, he had the coordination and instincts most kids had not developed yet.

But if I am being honest, raising Eric was not easy. He was like a thoroughbred that needed to be broken, strong-willed and intense. A lot like me. And I cannot say I always knew how to handle that and frankly I’m still learning. 

He pushed limits, tested boundaries, and if he had his mind set on something, good luck trying to change it. That stubbornness could be frustrating, and let’s just say debates in our house rarely ended with me winning, but looking back, I realize it was also the very thing that shaped him into who he is today.

Growing up in the 60s and 70s in New York, my athletic world looked very different. Little League existed, but I never felt I was good enough to play. Instead, my world revolved around street games like stickball, punchball, football, and hockey, all played on asphalt and patches of grass at the local park until the streetlights came on. We made up the rules as we went and spent every free moment lost in the game, pretending to be our favorite players.

I was a mediocre athlete at best, coordinated enough to not make a fool of myself but never drawn to organized team sports. Still, I loved being a fan, rooting passionately for New York’s pro teams, a devotion that started then and still continues today.

Eric’s path looked nothing like mine. He had the skills and the drive to take things further. Travel teams, real training and coaching, competitive leagues, all things I never had growing up. I got caught up in it, wanting him to have every chance I never did. Before long, it became about more than just supporting him; it became my mission to help him reach his dream, even if I did not realize I was living a little too much through him.

And yes, I was that father, the one running up and down the sidelines yelling at games. I cringe at it now. It was not until I saw another father across the field doing the same thing that it hit me. What am I doing? That was my wake-up call. I promised myself I would be his supporter, not his critic, at least not so publicly. From that moment on, I focused on being the presence he needed, not the added pressure he did not want. 

As Eric grew, it became clear that it was not just his talent; it was his inner fire that set him apart. He was not just competing against others; he was driven to outdo himself. The stakes grew with every season.

Little League turned into travel teams, and pickup soccer became structured leagues with weekend tournaments and competitions, high-stakes competitions, standings and real pressure. Though undersized, he threw harder than most and had the heart to match.

He became the go-to for big games. That kind of toughness went beyond raw skill.

But like all athletes eventually learn, the body has its limits. Injuries emerged. But that moment, as painful as it was, marked not an ending but the start of something new.

For the last ten years, Eric has poured that same determination into building a career as a trainer and coach. The lessons he learned through sports, like discipline, resilience, and the will to fight through adversity, are the foundation of how he leads others.  He is not just helping people work out; he is helping them rebuild their confidence and change how they approach life.

I am still his biggest fan and as I watch him take these next big steps toward a legacy all his own, I am reminded that life’s most valuable lessons are not found in the easy wins, they are forged in the moments we fight through.

Eric’s story is still being written. If you are looking for someone to help you rewrite your own, trust me, there is no one better to have in your corner.

FROM ME:

There are a million stories I could share; the tough losses, the sacrifices, the endless fights we had.

The hard and difficult times that pushed me to the edge. Growing up, I was always determined to be the best, or at least the best version of myself.

My relationship with my dad wasn’t easy. It was filled with high highs and low lows.

As I reflect on those years, I’m grateful for how he threw me to the wolves.

He liked watching me get my ass kicked, in martial arts, in training, in business, in life, or in any sport for that matter, when it did happen.

He didn’t mind when I lost a game, or made a costly mistake.

Not because he enjoyed seeing me fail, but because he saw it as a teaching moment, a way to show me the value of training, of staying focused, of learning through hardship.

There was always something to learn. No matter how far I got, he always reminded me: most people don’t even try.

He liked to see me win too, and don’t get it twisted, I did a lot of that along the way. I wouldn’t be me if that wasn’t my reality.

But, he was always real with me, about the effort I must put in, the discipline it takes, and the reality of the goals I said I wanted. He never sugarcoated it.

That kind of tough love is rare now.

A lot of people today are surrounded by kindness, but not honesty.

They’re surrounded by good ideas, but not the willingness to do what it takes to bring those ideas to life.

Life isn’t easy. Having a six-pack or being an athlete isn’t the point.

But too many people are paralyzed by a vision they’ll never act on, simply because they’re afraid to start.

My dad repeatedly says, “do it the right way” even as he admitted, “do as I say, not as I do.”

He made it clear he wasn’t like me at that age. And I’m thankful for that. His voice pushed me to be better.

Another one of his consistent sayings is, “experience is the best teacher.”

In sports, and in life, you learn by doing. You fall, you get back up, and you earn your own lessons.

We live in a world of curated feeds and filtered versions of truth.

The real stuff… the sweat, the failure, the grind, that’s what shapes you. That’s what shaped me.

As I’ve learned, the actual work has always been the most important variable in success.

I learned a lot from my dad through our intense relationship, especially in showing up.

All in all, my dad was the first ever to step up and train with me when I started as a coach, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

Since then, our entire family has made incredible strides toward living an active lifestyle.

All I hope is that I can find a better way to communicate it than he did.

Not because his message was wrong, but because I want to carry it forward in a way that lands.

This isn’t just about my dad.

It’s about the quiet, messy, relentless ways we’re shaped, and the legacy we get to write, rewrite and fight for, every day.