Welcome to the Daily Dad podcast, where we provide one lesson every single day to help you with your most important job, being a parent.

I'm Ryan Holiday, and I draw these lessons from ancient philosophy, modern psychology, practical wisdom, and insights from

parents just like you all over the world. Thank you for listening, and we hope this helps.

This is making you so much better.

We talked before about how MacArthur had a kind of scheduled morning craziness with

his son Arthur, who would enter his room promptly at 7 a.m. and pommel his father awake.

Then together they'd sing songs, old army songs, Douglas had taught him,

while with Arthur still slurring his

ars while he shaved and got ready for work. As William MacArthur observes in his amazing

biography of the complicated man, MacArthur believed that his son was the only one who appreciated

his singing. He was wrong, Manchester wrote. Everyone around him appreciated it because they saw the

changes the boy had rot in him. MacArthur, whose only child was born when he was 58 and was already one of

the most powerful men in the army, had always been active and firm. But with a young boy running around,

he became alive in a way that he had never been before.

He laughed. He loved. He let his guard down. MacArthur beautifully captures what fatherhood has done

for countless fathers for all time. A snapshot of the three MacArthur's taken on the boy's

third birthday, he writes, shows Arthur in a sailor suit, his mother in a

flower trimmed frock and his father, macky. The general's expression can only be described as adoring,

acclaim, achievements, decorations, and high rank had come to him early. Now, in his 60s, he had found

serenity. You have been given a wonderful gift.

Actually, that's not quite right.

You have helped create a wonderful gift.

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