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I grew up in the 70s.

Saturday mornings were cartoons. Summer meant you were outside until the streetlights came on. And Thursday nights — if you were lucky — meant watching the Waltons or Eight is Enough on a television with rabbit ears and maybe three good channels.

Those shows had something in common. They had parents. Real ones. Adults who ran the household set the tone and made the decisions. The kids were loved, but they weren't in charge.

Fast forward fifty years, and somewhere along the way, we flipped that.

The 70s also gave us something else: the latchkey kid. Divorce was becoming normalized. Families were fracturing. And a generation of children — myself included — felt the ground shift beneath their feet.

When the foundation of a family is unstable, kids feel it. They can't always name it, but they feel it. And that feeling — that low-level hum of uncertainty — follows them. Into their teens. Into their relationships. Into their own marriages and families one day.

I know. It did me.

Here's the thing I've learned — sitting with hundreds of sailors and their families over the years, hearing their stories, watching patterns repeat themselves — the antidote to an untethered child is not more attention to the child. (Read that again!)

It's a stronger marriage.

I can't count the number of times I've been sitting across from a young sailor, sleep-deprived and a little lost, who says something like, "I know the kids have to come first. I understand that. I just wish I could get a little more from my spouse sometimes."

And that's the moment I lean forward and say, "Hold on. Let's back up."

Because here's the truth they weren't told:

Putting your kids first isn't selfless. It's a mistake.

I know that sounds backwards. Maybe even harsh. Stay with me.

When children are elevated to the top position in a family — when their needs, their preferences, their schedules, and their comfort become the organizing principle of the household — something goes wrong.

Not immediately. But eventually.

Children who are placed at the center of the family become anxious. Not confident. Anxious. Why? Because they are carrying a weight they were never designed to carry. They sense, even subconsciously, that the stability of the home runs through them — and that is terrifying for a child.

The Bible tells children to honor father and mother. It's a good instruction. What it does not say is that parents should organize their entire lives around honoring the child.

There's a reason for that.

Children find security in watching their parents love each other well. Often imperfectly, and yet still striving to love better each day.

When a child sees that Mom and Dad have something solid between them — something that doesn't revolve around the kids, something that existed before the kids and will exist after — they relax. The anxiety drops. They can be kids again, because the adults are handling the adult things.

That is the foundation. That is the gift.

Let me give you something practical.

We had a rule in our house. A simple one. The kids were not allowed to interrupt my wife and me when we were talking with each other.

Now before you picture children silently staring at the wall — the rule came with a grace built in. If they needed something, they could walk up and quietly take one of our hands. That was the signal. It told us, "I'm here, I need something, when you're ready." And we would get to them as soon as we could.

That was it.

No interrupting. No "Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM." No wedging themselves between us mid-sentence to redirect the conversation back to themselves.

The exceptions? Blood. Vomit. Sticky mouse traps stuck to baby sister and dog (True story!). Those earned an interruption.

Everything else could wait thirty seconds.

You might think that sounds strict. But watch what that rule actually taught them:

It taught them that our conversation had value. That what Mom and Dad were saying to each other mattered. That the relationship between their parents was something worthy of respect — not something to be casually bulldozed every time a new thought entered their heads.

It taught them patience and self-regulation in a way that no timeout or consequence ever could.

Most importantly, it taught them place and position. Not in a harsh, diminishing way. In a clarifying way. A secure way. They learned, through repetition and lived experience, that the marriage was the foundation of the home — and that the foundation was solid.

Kids don't need to be told that in a lecture. They need to feel it, day after day, in the small ordinary moments of family life.

The hand rule was one of those moments.

The dinner table is another one.

Not in a rigid, "children are to be seen and not heard" kind of way. That misses the point entirely.

The point is that the dinner table is where the tone of the home gets set, night after night. It's where kids watch how adults talk to each other, handle the small things, laugh together, and navigate the day. They are learning constantly — whether you intend it or not.

When parents lead the table well — with warmth, with structure, with real conversation — kids don't feel pushed aside. They feel anchored.

That security becomes the launching pad for everything else. Their confidence. Their resilience. Their capacity for healthy relationships as adults. Their model for their own marriage and family someday.

Putting your marriage first doesn't hurt your children.

It is one of the most important things you will ever do for them.

Tonight's Table Question:

"What's one thing you noticed Mom or Dad do today that you thought was pretty good?"

(Watch what they say. You might be surprised.)

This Week's Challenge:

Plan one thing this week that is just for your marriage — a conversation after the kids are in bed, a walk together, even just putting your phones down and talking for 20 minutes. You don't need a babysitter or a reservation. You just need to make the relationship a priority out loud, so your kids can see that it is.

If this hit close to home, I want to ask you something:

Who in your life needs to hear this today?

A friend who's exhausted from putting the kids first and has nothing left. A family member whose marriage is running on empty because the schedule is built entirely around the children's activities. A couple you care about who are good parents but have slowly stopped being good partners.

Forward this email to them. Right now. Before you close it.

You don't need a long message. Just say, "Thought of you when I read this."

That's it. That small act might be the thing that opens a conversation they've been needing to have for months.

And while you're at it — if you're not already a subscriber and someone forwarded this to you, welcome. You can join us here: dinnercommander.com

We show up every week with practical, honest content to help your family build something real — one dinner at a time.

Keep showing up.

— Chaps

P.S. — The hand rule costs nothing. Try it this week and let me know how it goes. I genuinely want to hear.

Every family eats. Not every family builds security.