Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth, you never have to remember anything.” Here’s the Nellie Corollary- “If you’re authentic, you never have to fake anything.”

That is, if I was going to continually advise – ok, prod and nag - my sons on how they should conduct themselves, I would have to model what I said.

You’ve already read how candid I was with them, even when it was about my own shortcomings. If I pushed them too far they let me know and I was deservedly shut down. In Rebound I recount a humiliating story in which my kids reprimanded me about constantly looking at my work phone while I was at the same time nagging them about too much screen use. When I was fired from a job, I didn’t hide it from them. When I told them they needed to really reach far, I made myself the example of the hapless guy in a creepy office building.

Nor did I flinch from public confrontation. Yes, that kid is a jackass – don’t be like him. The desire to “help kids” sounds nice but has a lifelong downside. Don’t give me lame excuses - if you’re late to something, you’re wrong. Sometimes, Dad is going to leave you and you’re on your own.

All of which is to emphasize: If I was asking them to behave a certain way, I had to as well. If you’re going to judge, you’ll be judged. And that’s why you have to lead from the front.

An example: I just didn’t sit in bleachers encouraging them in their athletic endeavors. I was right there on the fields and in gyms, weeknights and weekends, sweating it out with all three. I coached their teams and drove their teammates to practices and games. I volunteered at their schools for anything and everything. I was always ready to jump to take the boys new places, even when sometimes my heart just wasn’t in it.

And to reiterate, as I pointed out in a National Public Radio (NPR) interview with correspondent Michaeleen Doucleff, I was emphatic about alerting my sons to adults who were total models of confidence, affability and ease, just outstanding role models. “You need to be more like Mr. Gergar and Mr. Pikus. Watch them when you’re around them,” I would explain.

“Think of Mrs. Stillman when you’re about to get really mad.” So it wasn’t just always about “watch Dad” or “listen to Dad,” it was about singling out adults who were doing it right. “Your old man doesn’t own the franchise on how to act.”

None of this requires much effort if you like doing it and I loved doing it. And most of all, when things were going really south for one of my sons, I knew it and yes, adapted.

One of the funniest and yet most revealing stories ever in our family history occurred one summer when my middle son went to stay for a week with his cousins in New Jersey. He called me one morning and said simply, “Hey Dad, can you come get me?”

I was speechless.

Why? Because just 36 hours ago I had dropped him off there, driving 170 miles each way. He explained on the phone that he had become impatient with his cousins sitting around playing video games all day and he want- ed out - “I got stuff to do at home,” he insisted. What?! Normally and keeping in type, I would have told him to just tough it out. Come on, son – adapt! Just take it for four more days.

But he had an edge in his voice. We both knew that he was upset. I was wise enough not to ask for details and paused and then said, “Ok pal, I get it. If that’s what you want, I’ll head up there.” About five hours later I reached the cousins’ home.

And there he was standing in the driveway, his duffle bag on the pavement next to him. Despite the long drive, I laughed to myself - man, this kid wants out! I pulled up to him, leaned from the car window and said, “Hey, I at least gotta check in with Uncle Andy and say hi and tell him thanks for having you, though I sure don’t know why.”

My son nodded as he opened passenger door to throw in his bag. Then he looked over at me and uttered the line for all the ages: “Ok, but don’t turn off the engine.” The four of us repeat this story and that unbelievable quip to this day; it can bring us to tearful laughter. The whole point was that when things got really got unbearable or desperate, Dad wouldn’t flinch. He would come through. Yes, he could be a hardass and sometimes too goofy at times. But when there was real heat on, he would understand and do what needed to be done.

They knew this. They saw this. This is not boasting; it’s how a parent should act. The best way to encapsulate this relationship with my sons is one last story. When I attended their weekday afternoon games for their school teams (and with three sons playing three seasons of sports and summer ball, there were at least three a week for months and years), I always tried to wear a jacket and a tie or a suit. I didn’t always pull it off but I was pretty consistent. The photo atop this post was one of my son's Landon School lacrosse games;  attire for this game was easy; I was coming from work on Capitol Hill.

Why? Good question – and here’s the answer, the same one I gave to my sons when they first asked and then stopped asking it: “Boys, listen closely because I’ll say it only once and I know you’ll get it. Here’s the deal. I know how hard you work to get better, all the hours and practices. These games are important to you and the wins are huge and the losses hurt. So when I show up dressed nicely to your games, it’s my way of showing you and your team the respect you deserve.”

Sure, you’re no doubt thinking this is wayyy out there. Perhaps it is. But not to me. It was symbolic of everything I was trying to instill in them. If I am constantly asking them to carry themselves with poise and self-respect, shouldn’t I model that?

Leading from the front also means always show up. If they have an event, so do you. It’s vital you show the flag, even if they don’t run up to you and acknowledge that you’re there, wherever there is.

Sure, it can be a hassle to leave work early and drive 20 miles to a field for an 8th grade soccer game; to hike to some swim meet where your kid is in the water twice for a total of three minutes or to a wrestling match where in all of 20 seconds he is pinned and the day is over for him (and you). Or, and this is the living end: Fight an hour of traffic to a game were the kid doesn’t even get off the bench.

I lived every example above, not as some martyr but because just being there engendered a sense of satisfaction. And guess what. I wasn’t alone – I saw hundreds of hundreds of parents over the years do the same thing.

Indeed, I wrote a commentary for The San Diego Union- Tribune on kids and sports in which I estimated the number of games I’d attended for all three sons. This timeline runs from when the oldest was four-years-old in youth soccer all the way through the senior year of my youngest son’s college career – rec leagues, travel ball, middle school, high school and college games – for 22 years. The number? Approximately 2,300 games.

I know – crazy. Check that – ridiculously crazy. And maybe twenty percent weren’t exactly a funfest – the game was a blowout loss or the kid played badly or not at all. But in general, none of this involved any sacrifice on my part; watching them out on a field or a basketball court or wrestling mat or in swimming pool provided basic joy. All I had to do was show up - how hard was that?!

I really was determined to live the way I was telling my sons to live. They understood that. Lead from the front and over time, your example will drive your kids to live that way too.