I think I'm a good dad. It's hard. Ultimately, it's our kids that

In the words of Rivers Cuomo, “I think I’m a good dad. It’s hard. Ultimately, it’s our kids that have the final word. So we’ll have to ask them.” Here speaks not the musician or the poet, but the father — humble before the mystery of love and responsibility. These words carry the wisdom of all who have walked the sacred yet uncertain path of parenthood. Cuomo’s reflection is one of honesty, acknowledging that no parent, no matter how loving or devoted, can ever fully know if they have succeeded until the next generation gives its quiet verdict. For it is the children, not the parents, who live with the legacy of their upbringing.

Rivers Cuomo, the frontman of the band Weezer, is known for his introspection — for blending intellect and vulnerability in both his art and his life. In this quote, he lays bare a universal truth: that fatherhood, like all great callings, is filled with doubt. To raise a child is to pour one’s heart into the unknown, to give love without certainty of how it will be received. Every parent hopes to do well, but no one can truly judge the outcome until years have passed — until the child, grown and wise in their own right, looks back and speaks. Cuomo’s words remind us that humility is at the heart of true parenting.

The ancients understood this paradox well. In the story of King Priam of Troy, we find a father who watched his sons grow into warriors and princes, only to see them fall in battle for honor and pride. Priam’s greatness lay not in his kingship, but in the love that endured even after loss. When he knelt before Achilles to beg for the body of his slain son Hector, he embodied the eternal truth that a parent’s love is both unending and powerless to control fate. So too does Cuomo’s reflection echo this wisdom — that being a good father is not about mastery, but about steadfast love amid uncertainty.

To say “It’s hard” is not a confession of weakness, but an act of courage. For the path of fatherhood has always been one of labor and transformation. The ancient farmer sows the field knowing that drought or storm may undo his toil; yet he plants anyway, trusting the soil and the seasons. The same is true for the parent: we teach, we guide, we protect, yet in the end, we must release. Our children will grow into their own souls, shaped by both our successes and our flaws. Cuomo’s humility — his willingness to let his children’s voices be the measure — is a reminder that love must coexist with surrender.

And in saying, “We’ll have to ask them,” he reminds us that the truest measure of parenthood cannot be found in wealth, in accomplishments, or even in intention — but in the hearts of the children themselves. How do they remember our patience, our presence, our listening? Do they feel safe in our love? Do they see in our eyes not judgment, but belief? These are questions that no parent can answer alone. Time, experience, and the child’s own journey will one day speak the truth.

The lesson within this quote is clear and timeless: to be a good parent is not to be perfect, but to be present. The wise parent accepts imperfection and leads with humility. They know that love is not measured by control, but by trust — the trust that, even if mistakes are made, the bond will endure. The parent who listens, who apologizes, who continues to learn alongside the child, is greater than the one who claims certainty. For as the ancient teachers said, “The humble heart teaches best.”

So, children of the future and stewards of the present, remember this: fatherhood and motherhood are acts of faith. They are promises made not for applause, but for love itself. Do your best, but do not seek to be flawless. Seek instead to be genuine, compassionate, and open-hearted. When doubt comes, as it always will, take comfort in Cuomo’s wisdom — that in the end, it is not the parent who declares success, but the child who remembers love.

Thus, through the simple honesty of Rivers Cuomo, we hear an ancient truth reborn: that the greatest teachers of parents are their own children, and that the legacy of love is written not in perfection, but in the quiet, enduring echo of care.