A Little Fellow Follows Me
Finding Strength in Those Who Trust Us Most
Laugh if you want, but I enjoy the Netflix series Cobra Kai. While I rooted for Daniel in the original 80s movie, my favorite character is now Daniel’s rival Johnny Lawrence.
My kids saw enough similarities between Johnny and me to buy an Eagle Fang Karate shirt for my birthday. I assume it’s because we share a respect for old school toughness, both critical of today’s soft culture of participation trophies and overprotective parenting.
But it wasn’t one of Johnny’s anti-snowflake rants that caught my recent attention.
The scene that struck a chord was a flashback to Johnny’s childhood, when his mom tells him that she is remarrying and he’s getting a new stepdad. A distraught Johnny runs to his room and pulls out a cardboard box from under his bed, items his natural father left behind.
The first thing young Johnny grabs from his box? His dad’s crinkled-up Coors can — Johnny’s own favorite beer forty years later as he struggles with a drinking problem.
Treasured Tokens
Seeing that beer can reminded me of my behavior after my dad passed away five years ago.
When I went back home for his funeral, I instinctively grabbed one of dad’s tins of Skoal chewing tobacco from his cabinet. It now sits close by in a small box of random stuff on my writing desk.
I was fortunate to never take on the dirty habit of chewing, probably because my first experience with tobacco was reminiscent of the Tilt-A-Whirl scene in The Sandlot.
But such acts reveal the primal need in sons to idolize their fathers, to hold onto anything that carries their imprint.
Even when, in Johnny’s case, there was probably a lot he didn’t want to remember.
The Weight of Example
When coach John Wooden first became a dad, a friend gave him a picture with a poem on it called A Little Fellow Follows Me, which Wooden hung on his wall and later memorized.
A careful man I want to be,
A little fellow follows me.
I do not dare to go astray,
For fear he’ll go the self‑same way.
In reading the poem’s first lines, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, even trapped by the responsibility of being a father.
The truth is inescapable — our children are watching and copying everything we do.
Every time we scroll mindlessly on our phones during family time.
Every time we lose our patience and snap at someone.
Every time we choose the easy way instead of the right way.
The Better Road
But knowing I’m far from perfect, I like to focus more on the poem’s ending.
But after all it’s easier,
That brighter road to climb,
With little hands behind me —
To push me all the time.
And I reckon I’m a better man
Than what I used to be…
Because I have this lad at home
Who thinks the world of me.
Rather than worry about never making a mistake, I find strength in the idea of my children pushing me to be a better man. And I like to think, if I do my best and spend enough time with my kids, they will pay more attention to the good things; maybe give me a break with some of my screw-ups.
I have done that with my dad. Like all of us, he wasn’t perfect. But, I have immortalized him in my memories, focusing on all of the good things he did, the things I want to emulate.
It's one of the main reasons I write — to keep my dad's fire burning in this world, to ensure his values light the way for others.
The Greatest Honor
Last week, my kids and I rewatched Top Gun Maverick, a movie my dad (and Johnny Lawrence) would have loved.
Near the end, Tom Cruise hugs Goose's son Rooster on the carrier deck and thanks him for saving his life.
Rooster’s reply is simple but profound: "It's what my dad would’ve done."
Few movie lines hit me as hard as that one.
Not just because it's a son honoring his father's memory, but because it captures the truest measure of a father's legacy — the moment when our children face life's challenges and instinctively know the right path because we showed them the way.
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Image credit: Alamy
Sharing Midwestern values through the stories of a hard-working single dad, all for the glory of God.