Olivia: The most common parenting advice is ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ It turns out, that’s not just bad advice—it’s biologically impossible. Children are hardwired to ignore what you say and perfectly replicate what you do, for better or, terrifyingly, for worse. Jackson: So my kids are basically tiny, judgmental surveillance cameras? That's... comforting. It explains why my son has suddenly developed a very dramatic sigh every time he has to put his shoes on. I have no idea where he got that. Olivia: Exactly. They are the most sophisticated imitation machines on the planet. And that core, slightly terrifying truth is the foundation of the book we're diving into today: The Daily Dad: 366 Meditations on Parenting, Love, and Raising Great Kids by Ryan Holiday. Jackson: Ah, Ryan Holiday. The guy who made Stoicism cool again for tech bros and NFL coaches. I've seen his other books, like The Daily Stoic, everywhere. So he’s taking ancient philosophy from Roman emperors and applying it to… diaper changes and toddler tantrums? Olivia: That’s precisely the angle. And it’s why the book has been so highly rated, even if some readers find it a bit like "motivational quotes for CEOs." Holiday’s whole project is taking these dense, ancient ideas about virtue and resilience and making them brutally practical for modern life. He argues that parenting is perhaps the most intense philosophical practice there is. Jackson: I can get behind that. My three-year-old certainly poses some deep existential questions. Like, "Why is the sky?" followed immediately by "Can I have a snack?" So, if our kids are these little mimics, what's the big idea from Holiday? How do we not mess this up? Olivia: He frames it with a powerful metaphor, actually borrowed from Bruce Springsteen. You have a choice. You can either be an 'ancestor' in your child's life, or you can be a 'ghost.' Jackson: Ancestor or a ghost. Okay, unpack that for me. That sounds both profound and a little spooky.

Olivia: It’s about what you pass down. A ghost haunts. It passes on its burdens, its mistakes, its unresolved anger. An ancestor, on the other hand, guides. They pass on wisdom, strength, and a clear model of how to live. Holiday's point is that this isn't passive. It's a conscious, daily choice. Procreating is biological, but parenting is psychological. Jackson: So it’s the difference between passing on your baggage and passing on your luggage, which is packed with useful stuff for the journey. Olivia: That’s a great way to put it. And the book is filled with stories that show the stakes. Take Margaret Thatcher. In 1952, her father, a local politician, lost his office in a bitter election. He was publicly humiliated. Jackson: Oh, I can imagine the temptation there. To be angry, to be cynical, to complain about the injustice of it all in front of your kids. I’ve done that after a bad day at work. Olivia: Right? But he didn't. He came home and made a statement of what Thatcher later called "incredible restraint and dignity." He said, "Although I have toppled over I have fallen on my feet. My own feeling is that I was content to be in and I am content to be out." He showed her how to lose. How to face adversity with poise. And she said that single moment taught her a lesson that served her for her entire life, right through being Prime Minister. He chose to be an ancestor. Jackson: Wow. That’s a powerful example of modeling behavior in a high-stakes moment. But what about the opposite? What does being a 'ghost' look like in practice? Olivia: The book points to a more recent, and frankly, heartbreaking example: the college admissions scandal, specifically with actors William H. Macy and Felicity Huffman. For years, Macy had given interviews with great advice, like "The only thing worse than a liar is a liar that’s also a hypocrite." Jackson: Oh boy, I think I see where this is going. Olivia: Exactly. They then participated in a scheme to fake their daughter's SAT scores. They paid to have her answers secretly corrected. And the worst part? Their daughter had no idea. She studied hard, she took the test, and she was presumably proud of her score. Jackson: That is brutal. So while they were probably telling her "we believe in you," their actions were screaming the exact opposite. They were a ghost, haunting her with their own lack of faith in her abilities. Olivia: Precisely. The hypocrisy is one thing, but the underlying message they sent to their daughter was, "You're not good enough on your own." That’s a wound that lasts. It’s a perfect illustration of one of the book's key quotes, from the writer Robert Fulghum: "Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you." Jackson: That quote should be on the wall of every delivery room. But it also feels incredibly high-pressure. Does one slip-up, one moment of hypocrisy, make you a ghost forever? I mean, I tell my kid to eat his vegetables while I'm hiding in the pantry eating cookies. Am I dooming him? Olivia: (laughs) I don't think it's about perfection. Holiday is a Stoic, and Stoicism is about practice, not perfection. It's about the direction you're facing. The book tells a simple, ancient story about a boy who goes to study with the philosopher Plato. He spends months in Plato's home, where the environment is calm, rational, and thoughtful. Jackson: Sounds nice. A lot calmer than my house. Olivia: Then the boy goes home to visit his parents. And while he's there, he sees his father absolutely lose his temper, just screaming at a servant over some minor issue. The boy just looks at him, completely bewildered, and says, "I have never seen anyone at Plato's house act that way." Jackson: Oof. That's a gut punch. The kid's internal baseline for "normal" had been reset. Olivia: It had been reset. In that one moment, the father's outburst wasn't just an outburst; it was a lesson. It taught the boy what was considered acceptable behavior in his own home. It’s not about a single mistake defining you, but about understanding that every action, big or small, contributes to the moral and emotional atmosphere you're creating. That atmosphere is your primary teaching tool. Jackson: Okay, that makes sense. It’s about the climate, not the weather. But that brings up the real challenge, doesn't it? It’s one thing to know you should be a calm, dignified role model like Thatcher's dad. It's another thing entirely to actually do it when you're sleep-deprived and your toddler has just thrown a bowl of spaghetti at the wall. How does the book tackle that internal chaos?

Olivia: You’ve hit on the second core pillar of the book. You can't be a good ancestor externally if you haven't mastered your internal world. Holiday leans heavily on Stoic philosophy here, starting with a quote from Epictetus: "Every event has two handles—one by which it can be carried, and one by which it can't." Jackson: Two handles. So, for the spaghetti-on-the-wall incident, one handle is "My child is a tiny monster sent to destroy my sanity and my white paint." What's the other handle? Olivia: The other handle might be, "My child is a toddler exploring physics and boundaries, and is probably tired or hungry. This is a mess, not a malicious attack." Choosing the right handle is the fundamental skill of emotional self-control. And the book gives this incredible story that shows just how hard that is, even for the toughest people imaginable. Jackson: I’m ready. Hit me with it. Olivia: It’s about a man named Chesty Puller. He was the most decorated U.S. Marine in history. He fought in World War II and the Korean War, saw some of the most brutal combat imaginable, and was known for his almost superhuman courage. Jackson: Okay, so a guy who doesn't flinch. Olivia: You'd think. The story takes place after the wars. He and his wife are taking their young daughter to the hospital to have her tonsils removed. A routine procedure. But his daughter is terrified. She's crying, screaming, clinging to him as they walk to the operating room. The nurses try to take her, but she won't let go of her dad. Jackson: Oh, that's every parent's nightmare. That feeling of being unable to soothe your child's fear, especially when you're the cause of it. Olivia: It's agonizing. They finally have to sedate her while she's still in his arms, and he has to hand his limp child over to the surgeons. Later, in the waiting room, his wife finds him, and this legendary warrior, this icon of toughness, is completely shaken. He looks at her and says that the experience was worse than the Battle of Peleliu—one of the bloodiest battles of the Pacific War. He was convinced his daughter would never forgive him. Jackson: Wow. That... that puts everything in perspective. Parenthood is a different kind of battlefield. The enemy isn't external; it's your own feeling of helplessness and your child's distress. Olivia: Exactly. It demands a different kind of courage. And that's where the Stoic tools become so vital. The book brings up Viktor Frankl's famous insight from his time in the concentration camps: "Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response." For parents, that space might only be a split second, but cultivating it is everything. Jackson: That space feels microscopic when you've just stepped on a Lego at 3 a.m. But I get the idea. A pause. A breath. A moment to find the right handle before you react. Is there any advice that's even more basic? Like, first aid for a parental meltdown? Olivia: There is, and it's almost comically simple. The book cites research from Ohio State University on what causes fights between couples. A huge percentage of them are caused by hunger. Jackson: (laughs) Hangry. It's real. Olivia: It's very real. The book's advice is: before you react to a meltdown—your child's or your own—ask: "Is anyone hungry?" It's a simple diagnostic question that can prevent so much unnecessary conflict. Feed the beast, whether it's your child or yourself. Jackson: That is the most practical piece of philosophical advice I have ever heard. But what about when it's not hunger? What about when it's a genuine mistake, a real screw-up? Olivia: That's where the story of Jimmy Carter comes in. When he was ten, he went fishing with his father. He was so proud, carrying the string of fish they'd caught attached to his belt. But at some point, the line came unclipped, and he lost them all. He was terrified, on the verge of tears, thinking about how angry his father would be. Jackson: I can feel that childhood panic in my bones. The dread of disappointing a parent. Olivia: He finally confessed what happened. And his father just stood there for a long, silent moment. Jimmy braced for the yelling. But then his father smiled and said, "Let them go, Hot. There are a lot more fish in the river. We'll get them tomorrow." Jackson: Oh, man. Olivia: Carter wrote about this eighty years later. He said in that moment, the fish didn't matter. What mattered was that his father knew what he needed: not a lecture, not punishment, but forgiveness. His father chose the handle of grace. And that single choice, that moment of leniency, became a defining memory of his father's character that lasted a lifetime.

Olivia: And you see how it all connects? It forms a loop. You can't be a good 'ancestor' like Jimmy Carter's father if you haven't mastered your own inner world. You can't choose the handle of grace if you're ruled by anger or frustration. The external example you set flows directly from your internal state. Jackson: So, the big takeaway is that parenting is less about managing your kids' behavior and more about rigorously managing your own. Your character, your example, your emotions... that's the real curriculum you're teaching every single day. Olivia: That's the heart of it. It's a daily practice. And it's not a new one. The book opens with this beautiful, humbling image. Scientists discovered ancient footprints preserved in the mud at White Sands National Park. The tracks are thousands of years old. They show a parent, likely a mother, walking across the landscape. Jackson: Wow. Olivia: And what's amazing is that you can see her own footprints, and then alongside them, the smaller footprints of a child she occasionally set down to walk. Then the child's footprints vanish, and hers get deeper, indicating she picked the child up again. She carried the child, set them down, let them toddle, picked them up again, over and over. Jackson: That's... every parent's journey, literally fossilized. Olivia: It's a profound reminder. We don't know their names. We don't know what language they spoke or what they believed. But we know their actions. We see the care, the effort, the journey. That's the legacy. The book argues that it’s not about being perfect. It's about that conscious, daily choice to keep walking the walk, to carry them when they need it, to master your own frustrations, and to be the ancestor your child deserves. Jackson: It makes you ask yourself: what footprints am I leaving behind today? Are they deep with the weight of my own baggage, or are they walking steadily alongside my kids? Olivia: That's the question. And it’s a great one to reflect on. We'd love to hear from our listeners. What's a small way you've tried to be an 'ancestor' this week? Share your stories with us on social media; we'd genuinely love to read them. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.