Fatherhood and the Art of Community

Father's Day has a way of bringing old thoughts back to the surface.

Over the past few weeks, I have found myself in several conversations with fathers. Some were casual discussions between men comparing notes. Others were more intentional conversations with younger fathers seeking advice and coaching. Different backgrounds. Different circumstances. Yet beneath each conversation lies the same question.

How do I help my son become a man?

Over the years, I have written about fathers, boys, and manhood. Twenty five years years ago, in the book Boys Becoming Men, I explored the role that rites of passage play in various cultures in helping boys cross the bridge into adulthood. Several years later, in an article called Bonsai Boys, I reflected on the danger of unintentionally holding boys back rather than preparing them for responsibility. I was thinking primarily about fathers and sons.

I still am.

Not because fathers are more important than mothers, nor because the lessons apply only to boys. But because I have three sons. My first son never made it to adulthood. He would be turning 40 this week. Both other sons, with whom I have a close relationship, are now raising sons of their own. I guess that is why, for the last forty years, Father's Day prompts reflection and the convergence of thought and emotion, and makes me ask not only how a boy becomes a man, but also what the role of the Father is.

Having spent the past two years exploring remote Japan's longevity hotspots and communities that support healthy aging, I find myself thinking about those same questions through a slightly different lens.

What does fatherhood look like in healthy intergenerational communities?

Fatherhood has become increasingly difficult, not just because we live in a digital world, but because of the long-tail effect of the introduction of the concept of adolescence more than a century ago, and its increasing `elastication` since. That may not even be a word, but it is the best way I can describe how the period between childhood and adulthood has been stretched further and further, particularly for boys. Many boys and men feel an inner tension, and some can live with a fear of snapping. Add to that the increasing dominance of the nuclear family, which places an excessive burden on fathers, inducing guilt, insecurity, and a lack of confidence in fathering.

The introduction of adolescence as a distinct life stage in 1904 by psychologist G. Stanley Hall was followed in the post-war years by the term' nuclear family`, sometimes referred to as `the family unit', which assumes a linear view of life and family where we are encouraged to keep moving forward, focusing on what comes next. The past is something we leave behind. We may offer an affectionate glance backward, but we largely see the past and those older than us as becoming increasingly irrelevant.

The modern nuclear family asks an extraordinary amount of two people. We expect parents to be providers, teachers, coaches, counselors, role models, disciplinarians, chauffeurs, and emotional support systems. In previous generations, much of that responsibility was shared by a wider circle of grandparents, neighbors, extended family members, mentors, and community elders.

As I have traveled throughout Japan, I have become increasingly convinced that one of the secrets of healthy communities is not merely what they do for older people. It is the extent to which generations remain connected to one another.

In Japan and other parts of Asia, a circular view of life prevails, and it feels different.

It is based on a belief that we are connected to those who came before us and responsible for those who will come after us. It recognizes that wisdom, responsibility, and care should move between generations rather than ending with one. Fathers, and mothers too, stand in the middle of that circle.

A father receives from previous generations and invests in the next. Whether he realizes it or not, he is helping shape not only a child but the future character of a family and a community. How you fulfill and model this role is critical to your child's growth into adulthood.

I heard a father say a couple of years ago that now that his children were leaving home, he hoped they would value the `currency` of his own life and `spend`  it wisely: He viewed his wisdom, his skills, his outlook, and his experience as capital available to his kids. An inheritance of sorts. It is a wonderful way of describing what young people stand to gain from their elders and how elders stay engaged with those younger.

I wrote to him, thanking him for what he said, and asked how he had leveraged his own parents' currency in his life.  Apparently, he hadn't.  He was dismissive and resentful. Therein lies the problem.  He was expecting and hoping for something he himself had not modeled or experienced.

Want to be a good father or grandfather? Remember that you are also a son and a grandson. Your engagement with parents and grandparents should be more than nostalgic, sentimental, or a matter of reluctant duty. They should be substantive. Stories. Lessons. Hardships. Victories. The things that shape a family and contribute to its spiritual DNA.

The encouraging news is that it is never too late to change the trajectory. Every family can strengthen the circle by recovering a simple but often neglected practice: recognition. To see what is emerging in the next generation, to affirm it, and to call it forward.

What fascinated me while researching rites of passage was the role of recognition. Across many cultures, older men extend a hand to younger men and welcome them into manhood.

"You are no longer a boy."

"You are now a man."

Words differ. Customs differ. But the principle remains remarkably consistent and often transformative. Recognition rarely changes a person in an instant. Yet as the soul and mind marinate in that moment, something recalibrates. A new setting is established.

Part of recognition is that it affirms responsibility and assures a sense of belonging.

Many men today have never experienced anything quite like that. They have reached adulthood, accepted responsibilities, built careers, married, raised children, and carried burdens, yet still feel as though something is missing. Every man needs someone older to recognize what is emerging within him and call it forward.

The role of a father is not to be perfect. The role of a father is to be present, engaged, and willing to accept responsibility for someone beyond himself. To create an environment in which a child can flourish. He helps a young person understand that life is not simply about what we receive but what we contribute.

Throughout history, healthy communities have depended upon men who took an interest in the next generation. That may be one of the greatest needs of our time. Not simply better fathers, but stronger circles. Men who are willing to invest in children who are not their own. Grandfathers willing to share their experience. Older men willing to encourage younger men.

In Japan`s longevity hotspots, I notice that older men are not retired from the community. They have not withdrawn from responsibility. They continue to contribute. They are still extending a hand, and younger generations in healthy communities not only respect their elders but also relish engagement with them.  This is where community is elevated from mere function to an art, refined, practiced, and beautiful. Everyone is an insider. No one is parked outside.

That is what healthy aging looks like. Not simply living longer, but remaining part of the circle. And that means as fathers, we need not bear the burden alone.

I am grateful for fathers, grandfathers, and father figures. Not because we are perfect. Not because we have all the answers. But every father who invests in a child is participating in something much larger than himself.

We are practicing the Art of Community. A place to belong, to flourish, and age well.

Happy Father's Day

Endnotes

1.     Lowell Sheppard, Boys Becoming Men: Rediscovering Puberty Rites of Passage (Oxford: Monarch Books, 2002). Available at: https://www.amazon.com/Boys-Becoming-Men-Lowell-Sheppard/dp/1850784736

2.     Lowell Sheppard, "Bonsai Boys," Navigate22, 2020. Available at: https://www.navigate22.com/blog/2020/bonsai-boys

3.     Lowell Sheppard, "The Art of Community vs. The Nuclear Family," Japan Solo Field Notes, 2026.

4.     G. Stanley Hall, Adolescence: Its Psychology and Its Relations to Physiology, Anthropology, Sociology, Sex, Crime, Religion and Education (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1904).

5.     Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (Les Rites de Passage, 1909; English edition, University of Chicago Press, 1960).

6.     Stephanie Coontz, The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap (New York: Basic Books, 1992).

About the Author

Lowell Sheppard is a father, grandfather, author, and Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society who has called Japan home for nearly thirty years. He is the Founder of the Never Too Late Academy and the author of ten books, including Boys Becoming Men: Rediscovering Puberty Rites of Passage and Letters from a Father to His Son: Lessons on Living a Meaningful Life.

His current research has taken him to longevity hotspots across Japan in search of insights into healthy aging, community, and the relationships that help people thrive across the generations. His forthcoming book, Longevity and the Art of Community: Lessons from Japan, draws on those travels and encounters.

Lowell writes from Amami Oshima, where he continues to study the connection between purpose, belonging, family, and a life well lived.