Parents- The O.G. Influencers

We spend so much time talking about influencers and the impact of social media on our kids.

But here’s something we can’t forget:

Parents are the original influencers. That’s right- WE are the OG’s!

Before algorithms, before TikTok, before perfectly curated lives on a screen… we were their first influence.

And even now—when it feels like we’ve been replaced—we haven’t been.

Parenting teens can feel like we suddenly have the least influence over the people we once had the most control over. Some days it feels like they couldn’t care less what we think, what we say, or how we feel.

But here’s the reminder we all need:

We are still their first role model.

Even when it feels like they’re not listening, they’re watching.

They pick up our tone and inflection, our hand gestures, the not-so-appropriate words that slip out.

But it goes deeper than that.

They see everything.

They see how we talk to our partner — who may or may not be their other parent.

They see how we talk about their other parent(s).

They see how much time we spend on our screens.

They hear how we speak to or about our own parents.

They notice how we treat our friends… and how we treat complete strangers.

They see how we handle stress.

They take note of how we problem solve.

How we talk about our bodies.

How much alcohol we consume.

Even the small choices in the words we use.

We might think they’re in their room, on their phone, completely tuned out. But they are quietly taking notes.

And when they ask questions about what they’re seeing, our instinct is often to shut it down.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s adult business.”

“Mind your own business.”

But when we do that, we’re not protecting privacy as much as we are pushing away connection. We’re shutting down conversations with young people who are actually old enough to handle honest answers.

When we let them in a little—when we treat them like the young person we want them to become—they rise to the occasion.

But when we treat them like children and then accuse them of acting like children, we slowly start to lose our influence.

And it’s not because they don’t want us to be their number one role model anymore.

It’s because teenagers have a very strong B.S. detector.

They see the gap between what we say and what we do.

They hear the patronizing tone we don’t always realize we’re using.

They notice the hypocrisy in our words and our actions.

And the moment they feel like they’re only getting the polished, “perfect parent” version of us—we lose some of our power.

Because no one connects to perfection.

They connect to real.

And that’s where a lot of the pressure comes in. It can feel like being a role model means getting everything right.

But being a role model is not about being perfect.

It’s about having the confidence to be our authentic selves.

It’s about crashing out when we’re overstimulated or overwhelmed—and then taking ownership of it. It’s recognizing the moment before the crash and narrating what’s going on:

“I’m feeling overstimulated. I need a minute. I’m going to take a walk… take a break… maybe even take a nap.”

Or maybe what you really want is a good old-fashioned drag of a cigarette like Carolyn Bessette Kennedy in Love Story. (Tear.) Of course that one goes against the role-model plan—but if you’re parenting in this generation, you’ve probably had days where a long hall might do the trick.

No one is parenting harder than this generation. It’s stressful. It’s overstimulating. And here I am saying, “Be a good role model—your kids are watching.”

I know that can sound like: Don’t mess this up.

But that’s not what this is.

Being a good role model is actually the opposite of being perfect.

It’s letting our guard down.

It’s telling our kids about the moments when we messed up.

When we made bad decisions.

When we learned something the hard way.

It’s letting them in on the secret that we’re human—so they don’t feel like they have to live up to some impossible standard.

Our kids love seeing the real version of us. The person we were before we became their parent.

One of my biggest “learning the hard way” moments happened when I was 17, going into my senior year of high school.

Three months earlier my best friend, Kate, had been killed in a car accident. My innocence was lost. Grief has a way of isolating you from the person you were before and the person you become after. To say I was lost in grief is an understatement, in a lot of ways I am still 17, part of me will always be 17.  It’s my protection mechanism- it is my way of staying connected to Kate and in a lot of ways it’s why I can connect so easily with my students and players-my nieces and nephews and of course, my own kids. I tell you this not as an excuse for my terrible decision, but as part of my backstory.

On with the terrible, bad, no good decision…

I wanted a tattoo to honor Kate. I know it’s cliché—but I was 17, so cut me some slack.

I told my dad I wanted one, and he promised that when I turned 18 he would bring me to get it. Waiting should have been fine…

Until a better offer came along.

A tattoo party.

So I told a little fib. Actually, it was a huge lie. I pulled the classic 80s movie plot twist and said I was sleeping at Lauren’s house… and Lauren told her mom she’d be home later.

Except later became like 3am…

Her mom panicked and called my parents.

Remember, we didn’t have phones back then. No tracking. No texting. No quick “Hey, where are you?” Instead, our parents paced the house imagining the absolute worst-case scenarios.

And after losing our friend, their worst fears were already something they had lived through once.

Our parents were grieving too. They had loved Kate like a second daughter.

At the time, I couldn’t understand that.

As you can imagine, I ended up with a very questionable basement tattoo. (No Hep C-thank God!)

When we pulled into Lauren’s driveway, we thought we were King Sh*t… until her mom came storming out of the house yelling and crying.

All I remember hearing was:

“I called your parents, Caitlin!”

The drive home felt like it took hours. Walking into a house with two panicked and disappointed parents is a feeling you don’t forget.

I still remember the look in their eyes—especially my dad’s—when I walked through that door.

And I have a permanent reminder of that day… right on my lower back.

My kids have had a bird’s-eye view of that tattoo their whole lives. There’s no hiding it. But what matters is how I tell the story.

They know all about Kate, so many stories.

I tell them about the lie.

About letting my parents down.

About trusting a random man in a random basement with a needle.

But most importantly, I tell them about the pain I saw in my parents’ faces that night.

That’s what being a role model really means.

Not getting a questionable tattoo in a basement in 1999 before tattoo shops were even legal in Massachusetts…certainly not that.

But owning the mistake.

Letting them ask questions. Talking about it openly. Showing them that adults mess up too—and that accountability matters.

A lot of parents worry that if they share their imperfections, it will give their kids permission to make bad choices. Or that one day their kids will throw those stories back in their faces.

In reality, the opposite usually happens.

It relieves the pressure our kids feel to be perfect.

It makes us human.

We absolutely want our kids to have lots of role models—teachers, coaches, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends.

But we can’t forget something important.

WE ARE THE OG’S!!!

Your friend, 

Caitlin