Happy Sunday, dads.
Two weeks from today is Father’s Day.
Andrew here. And before we get into it, I just want to say something that I don’t think gets said enough.
I don’t want to talk about brunch reservations or what gift to ask for. I want to talk about something that doesn’t get enough credit. The stuff you’re already doing that nobody’s putting a trophy on.
Most of what makes a great dad happens when nobody’s watching. Not on the highlight days. Not at the birthday parties or the big vacations. It’s the Tuesday night stuff. The patience you had when you were running on empty. The time you put the phone down even though you really didn’t want to. The hard conversation you had instead of avoiding it.
That stuff is invisible. And because it’s invisible, a lot of dads don’t give themselves credit for it. They’re doing the work and still walking around feeling like they’re not doing enough.
So this issue is for that dad. The one who’s putting in reps nobody sees. Father’s Day is two weeks away, and before we get to the celebration, I think it’s worth talking about the work that earns it.
Let’s get into it.
And if you’re new here, welcome to The DadGenda Dispatch. You picked a good weekend to show up.
Be honest with yourself right now: are you getting enough sleep this week? Yes or no. No qualifiers. No “well, I’ve been trying.” Just yes or no.
If the answer is no, and for most dads it is, pick one thing you’re cutting tonight to get 30 more minutes. The late-night scroll. The extra episode. The pointless email you’ll regret answering at 11:00 PM. Something goes.
Tired dads aren’t patient dads. That’s not a character flaw. It’s just biology. You can’t out-discipline a body running on five hours. And with Father’s Day two weeks out, the best thing you can do for your kids right now might just be going to bed earlier tonight.
Today, when you’d normally raise your voice at your kid, drop it instead. Quieter. Slower. Same words, different volume.
Here’s why it works: loud feels like power, but it’s actually the opposite. It’s a signal you’ve lost the room. Kids who get yelled at stop hearing. They go into survival mode. Kids who get spoken to actually listen. The quieter voice is the more powerful one. It just takes more discipline to use it.
Today, when you feel the volume climbing in your chest, drop it. Not just normal. Quieter than normal. Try it once and watch what happens in the room.
The DadderUp app drops a fresh Dad Flex daily, built for the kind of dad who doesn’t wait for the new year to level up. Download it and start tomorrow.
From our conversation with JD Tremblay, one of only three people to complete the Epic Deca (10 Ironman-distance triathlons in 10 days), military veteran, engineer, and founder of the Hungry Warrior Academy
JD grew up without a father figure, went through a divorce, rebuilt himself through endurance sports and discipline, and, somewhere in all of that, became obsessed with one question: what does it actually take to raise a strong kid?
His answer might not be what you’d expect from a guy who’s completed 10 Ironmans in 10 days. You don’t build strong kids. You build a strong environment, and they adapt to it. That’s it. That’s the whole framework.
The standards you set at home. The things that are non-negotiable. The way you show up quietly, consistently, without needing an audience. None of that looks dramatic. None of it makes the highlight reel. But it’s what your kids are absorbing every single day, whether they show it or not.
JD isn’t building his son to be a copy of him. He’s building the kind of environment where his son can figure out who he is, with a strong foundation already underneath him. That foundation is the work. And most of it happens when nobody’s watching.
That’s the work nobody sees. Keep doing it.
“How do I stay consistent when fatherhood feels thankless some days?”
— Chris, dad of three, DadderUp community
First, I want to acknowledge that feeling, because it’s real and it doesn’t get talked about enough. There are days when you’ve given everything, and your kid walks past you like you’re a piece of furniture. You put the phone down, you showed up, you tried, and got nothing back. That stings. And pretending it doesn’t isn’t strength, it’s just denial.
Here’s what I’ve had to remind myself on those days: consistency was never meant to feel good every time. If it felt good every time, it’d just be motivation. And motivation comes and goes. Consistency is what you do when the motivation is gone, and nobody’s clapping.
The other thing that helped me was changing what I was measuring. I used to measure my success as a dad by my kids’ reaction. Did they appreciate it? Did they respond the way I hoped? That’s a losing game because kids, especially younger ones, don’t have the emotional vocabulary to show you what you mean to them yet. You’re planting seeds. You won’t always see what grows.
So measure your inputs, not their outputs. Did I show up today? Did I put in the rep? That’s the only question that’s actually in your control. The gratitude comes later, sometimes years later. But it comes. Ask any grown kid about the parent who showed up quietly and consistently. They remember every single bit of it.
Keep going. The work is working even when it doesn’t feel like it.
This week I want to share something personal. Not because I have it figured out, but because this issue is about the work nobody sees, and I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t include myself in that.
Two years ago, I was on a cruise to Bermuda with my family. My girls were seven and five at the time. We got off the boat and found this water obstacle course on the island, the kind of thing kids go wild for. And they did. They were begging me to get in with them.
I said no. Made every excuse I had. Too tired. Not feeling it. Whatever I told myself in the moment.
The real reason? I was at the heaviest I’d ever been, 333 pounds. And I knew I couldn’t keep up. I watched from the side while my girls did their thing. And then I watched my youngest struggle in the water. She had her life vest on. She was going to be fine, but in that moment, my brain went somewhere I didn’t want it to go. Another dad helped her. Not me. I was too far away and too out of shape to get there fast enough.
Nobody saw what happened inside me in that moment. No dramatic music. No montage. Just a dad standing on the side of a water obstacle course in Bermuda, realizing he couldn’t show up the way his daughters needed him to.
That was the moment. I started counting macros, hitting 10,000 steps, and showing up to the gym. Not for a six-pack. For them. I went from 333 to 250, and I’m still going.
The work nobody sees starts with a decision nobody witnesses. Mine happened in Bermuda. Yours might be happening right now.
How do you recharge so you can show up better for your kids?
The full conversation. JD is one of only three people to complete the Epic Deca, 10 Ironmans in 10 days, and he has a lot to say about what endurance teaches you as a dad. He breaks down why you don’t build strong kids, you build a strong environment and let them adapt to it.
Ten years into fatherhood, my daughter told me she didn’t feel important to me. That one sentence forced a hard reset. Here’s the 4-part framework, Encouragement, Truth, Hope, and Reassurance, that changed how I show up for my girls after that moment.
We’ll keep showing up with the emails. All we ask? Father’s Day is two weeks out. If this landed for you, share it with a dad who could use the reminder.
