As a child, nothing irked me more than my father constantly correcting how I did things. When I tried golfing, I just wanted to hit the ball.  I didn’t care much if it went straight, high, or even far.  I just wanted to hit it.  Forty years later, that hasn’t changed.  I didn’t want to know how to hit a punching bag; I just wanted to hit that, too.  Chess strategy – not for me.  However, after moving the pieces around for long enough and watching them magically disappear, I eventually picked that game up.  I was a throw the ball hard, hit and see if it hits the pins kind of kid.  He was the if you are going to do it, you should probably do it right kind of Dad.  To his credit, I eventually learned that knowledge and technique do give the upper hand – particularly when trying not to get my arm ripped off on a Judo mat.    

Fast forward a few decades, and here I am, in my Dad’s shoes now, with my son, Luca, at the gym. Every time I guide him on the correct way to do an exercise, I see that same look of annoyance that I probably had.  Tonight, it was his bench press.  It wasn't very good.  I cringed because it looked like his shoulders would bend backward and fall off the sides of the bench, where I’d pick them up off the floor.  I stopped him, trying to do the big, strong Dad thing.  And, like his father many years ago – he did not want to hear my shit. 

And it hit me…the Relating Approach.  The Relating Approach is a concept that allows us to stop and reach deep inside of ourselves, calling upon that younger version that still exists within us.  The 12-year-old me still lives inside the 50-year-old me, and I am able to call it up when needed.  The 12-year-old me relates to the 12-year-old him, way better than version 5.0.  This strategy is very effective in working with youngsters – particularly in times of challenge.  Want to know why?  It is because we aren’t doing anything to change them.  Rather, we make a decision about our intentional self to change the way that we see the situation.  Then…POOF…any stress is gone.  It is a miracle. 

It might seem counterintuitive, especially in a setting like a gym, where doing exercises incorrectly could be harmful. However, I choose to let Luca do as he wishes for several reasons. First, there’s the sheer joy he finds in discovery. Every time he tries a new machine or attempts a new exercise, his face lights up with excitement, even if he’s doing it all wrong. Correcting him in these moments feels like I’m bursting his bubble. Secondly, the gym isn’t just about workouts; it's about building a habit and a love for fitness. If Luca associates the gym with fun and father-son time rather than rigid corrections, he will likely develop a lifelong passion for fitness. Lastly, I've noticed that over time, he observes and learns. With a bit of patience on my part, he will eventually figure out the proper techniques on his own.

He still wanted to go to McDonald’s on the way home.  Gross.  I used to eat Big Macs with my grandmother.  But that was before the Super-Size Me Documentary.  God, I hope he grows out of eating at the arches.

For us, our gym time isn’t just about lifting weights or burning calories. Despite the occasional misalignments in our exercise approaches, our bond strengthens as his muscles grow. Every moment we spend together, whether laughing at our reflections in the mirror or racing each other on the treadmills, cements a memory beyond the gym’s walls. When he looks back on these days, I hope he remembers not the technicalities of each exercise but the laughter, the camaraderie, and the irreplaceable time spent with his old man. It’s not just about shared DNA; it’s about shared experiences and memories. 

This approach – Relating – is one that I forget about occasionally.  But it is powerful in teaching, and relationships too.