The Last Laugh

by Brian Ritchie

June 24, 2026

Parenting does not require a license. It isn’t monitored by an authority, and for the most part goes on unregulated worldwide every day.

Things that do require a license and are monitored and regulated are: driving, hunting, selling insurance, cutting hair, operating a forklift, fishing, owning exotic animals, piloting anything, cosmetology, tattooing, trapping nuisance raccoons, and breeding alpacas.

But, creating and then being solely responsible for the emotional, physical, spiritual, and social development of another human being remains our last bastion of freedom in which we, citizens, are allowed to figure it out for ourselves.

And for the most part, we do.

Which is remarkable when you consider that first-time parents arrive home from the hospital with a vulnerable tiny person who poops themselves, and they have the same job-related skills as the weekend plumber who walks out of Home Depot with a bag of random PVC pipes and fittings.

Now, please do not get me wrong; I am not suggesting that we get the government more involved in our personal lives. They have enough on their hands overseeing decorative fish imports and trying to figure out whether a squirrel counts as wildlife or a nuisance, depending on which side of a property line it’s on.

So, with that said, here is a bit of dad advice in an area I think modern parents are starting to get wrong. Here goes: fathers ought to defeat their kids in every competitive challenge, for as long as they are physically able.

I’m serious about this. My dad was relentless. It didn’t matter how young I was or whether I was challenging him at something I had absolutely no experience in. He would beat me soundly, and then, as I sat there in humiliation, he would laugh. And it wasn’t a warm, sympathetic chuckle either. It was the sort of victorious battlefield howl you would expect from a Viking who had just pillaged a village.

Through human history, dads have always done this, and for good reason. Because the world scares them to death, and they know that one day their sweet little child will leave the safety of home and step into a cruel place that is waiting to chew them up and spit them out. And somewhere deep inside, fathers are hoping that every loss at checkers, every humiliating defeat at ping pong, and every merciless trouncing in Uno is tempering their armor. What they are trying to teach their kids is that a loss isn’t the end and that falling means learning, getting back up, and moving forward.

The hope is that they learn that winning feels great, but losing makes great.

Now, that’s dad-plan-phase-A, and if everything goes accordingly, part B kicks in. Which is the moment when the child surpasses them, as youthful strength, speed, wit, and intelligence begin to outpace the steadily deteriorating body and mind of the old man. Or perhaps fathers understand when it is time to ease off and let their little bird soar.

All that is to say, one day the kid needs to start winning, too.

I can still harken back to my Day of Abdication, which arrived during the warm season, in the island kingdom of Hilton’s Head.

I was a young squire. The old man and I had mounted noble steeds and set out upon the King’s Highway for an outing with my mother.

As fate would have it, a band of riders appeared ahead of us. They were clad in colorful garments, and their frames were hammered into shape by years of toil and countless miles. They moved fast and furiously ahead, and I was inspired to give chase. Likewise, my father took up the pursuit.

Soon, it became a personal race against each other.

We were flying across the realm, our steeds humming beneath us and our hair flowing nobly in the salty breeze. Like never before, the fire in my engine burned hot, and I strove with fury. To my astonishment, I pulled ahead of my patriarch. I felt the warmth and attentiveness of victory, that most elusive of maidens, who had never before smiled upon me. And I was overcome with youthful arrogance.

Believing the crown already mine, I made the fatal mistake of steering across the old man’s bow in an effort to secure my triumph.

Unfortunately, I had celebrated before the battle was actually won.

Our wheels touched.

And thus began the Great Unhorsing of Hilton’s Head.

In an instant, our noble steeds tumbled and became a tangled heap of metal and rubber while my father and I were flung from our saddles and rolled across the blacktop like discarded rag dolls.

I cannot report the full extent of my cuts and bruises because, at the time, they seemed entirely irrelevant. My mind was in shock, and I watched the old man lying motionless beside the road. It crossed my mind briefly that I should run and become a street orphan. I could sell friendship bracelets, which was the only skill I had acquired at that point in life.

Then he sat up.

A few moments later, he looked at me. And as my mother arrived, the king’s fury erupted.

To his credit, his outburst was brief, and before I was completely ruined, he wandered off to gather himself and assess the damage.

But he said enough.

And our relationship would never quite be the same.

In the span of a heartbeat, what I had imagined would be my coronation became one of the great shames of my life.

Even now, I have noticed a curious tendency in myself to sabotage my victories before I can enjoy them. I think somewhere deep inside, I still don’t quite know what to do with winning.

It would be years before I thought much about that moment again, but it came flooding back as I sat in a quiet hospital room.

Across from me, my father lay peacefully in the bed. The doctors had informed us that he had suffered “the big one” the day before, and that this had been the last stroke he would ever have.

By evening, the last of my siblings had made the journey to be there, and all we could do was wait. I felt like some small part of my dad’s mind was doing inventory, making sure he had heard all the voices. And I’ve always been convinced that, as one final act of love and protection, he had held on for Mom’s sake. He wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone when he departed to go home.

I found myself wishing he would wake up one more time, if only for a moment.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry.

Not for knocking him off the bike all those years ago.

Not for the scars or the bruises.

I just wanted to apologize for all the times afterward that I didn’t let him win.

Because I would have really loved to hear that infuriating, beautiful laugh one more time.

Thoughts

My dad probably imagined that moment for years. The day his son finally surpassed him—a handoff of sorts. The old king laying down the crown. But when the moment came, it wasn’t majestic.

Instead, it ended with two battered fools lying in the road.

We all play different roles in one another’s lives. I got to be my dad’s son. Whatever that meant in the season we happened to pass through together, I am convinced of one thing—he did the best he knew how. Sometimes that looked like wisdom. Sometimes frustration. Sometimes confusion, and often not what he planned.

Romans 8:28 says:

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

Not some things.

All things.

Victories and failures.

Planned and unplanned.

Life rarely unfolds according to our scripts, but a greater Author is guiding the story and making good use even of our missteps.

My father and I didn’t get the ending either of us would have written. But perhaps we received the better one.

It has taught me that God really doesn’t need us to get it right; He just needs us to understand that He always will.

Pray

Heavenly Father,

Praise You for the people You place in our lives and for the roles You allow us to play in one another’s stories.

Thank You for fathers and mothers and family and friends who did the best they knew how, even when they weren’t perfect.

Thank You that our lives are not ultimately held together by our success, but by Your goodness and grace.

Help us to trust You when life does not go according to our plans. Teach us to be thankful for ordinary moments, to forgive freely, and to love the people around us while we still have the opportunity.

And thank You that You are able to work all things together for good for those who love You and are called according to Your purpose.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen

Going Deeper

1. Looking back, can you identify a person God used to shape and strengthen you—even if some of the lessons came through imperfect moments or difficult experiences? What are you most grateful for today?

2. Are there any disappointments, regrets, or unfinished parts of your story that you have struggled to accept? How might trusting God’s promise in Romans 8:28 help you see those moments differently?

Stay Connected

You can listen to this episode of Still Bright Hope below, or keep reading to take it in at your own pace.

Enjoy this devotion? Subscribe here to receive new stories and podcasts from Still Bright Hope every week.