Own Or Be Owned

Fathers Who Fail Breed Broken Men

Master Your Dogs — or Don’t Call Yourself a Father

As boys, we are born with two dogs chained to our wrists. One is Lust. The other is Violence. At first, they’re small enough to manage, playful even but the boy grows, and so do they. Before we know it, by the time puberty hits, those dogs have become wolves, stronger than the boy himself, yanking him toward destruction at every turn.

The wolf of violence pulls him toward rage when he’s disrespected, toward fists when words would work, toward domination when partnership is needed. The wolf of lust pulls him toward every woman who isn’t his, toward instant gratification over lasting love, toward taking what isn’t offered.

Gents, here’s the hard truth: between sixteen and twenty, those chains are cut. The wolves are no longer bound to the boy. If by then he hasn’t learned how to control them, they will control him for life.

This is why fathers matter!

When our sons act out in rage, our instinct as fathers is often to meet fire with fire, volume or violence. Sad truth is that if we do that, we’re not teaching mastery, we’re teaching escalation. His wolves are bristling for destruction, and mine would only answer the call. What he needs in that moment is not another wolf off the leash. He needs a guide who has already mastered his own.

That’s when I say: get your shoes on. We go hard. Gym, soccer, a run; something physical, demanding, no talking, just movement. The wolves need to hunt, and after twenty minutes, the storm breaks, the wolves are tired, and only then can the boy think. That rage pulling at him, that’s his wolf. Every man has one. The difference is whether the wolf obeys, or whether it rules.

Most boys think manhood means letting the wolves run free. “I’m a man, I do what I want.” Sadly, that isn’t manhood. It’s savagery with a credit card. A gentleman is a man who keeps his wolves on a short leash. When disrespected, violence sits. When smiled at by a woman, lust heels. Not because the wolves are gone, hell, they never leave, but because he has chosen mastery.

Psychologists call these forces the Shadow, our primal instincts. Neuroscience tells us the prefrontal cortex, the brain’s impulse-control center develops late, often into the mid-twenties. That’s why teenagers feel so much, so fast, and often act recklessly: the wolves are at their strongest precisely when the brakes aren’t fully built. Which means if fathers don’t step in to teach mastery during these years, no one will.

The training ground isn’t lectures. It isn’t punishments. It’s discipline, consistency, and challenge. Boys need places to channel their fire: martial arts, sports, work, weights. They need sweat and effort, they need victories and defeats. Physical struggle teaches restraint better than words ever will. Only after the body is drained can the mind absorb wisdom. Only after the wolves are exercised can they be taught to obey.

Let's be honest, here’s the warning every father should fear: men who never master their wolves end up destroying everything they touch. The husband who beats his wife has let violence off the leash. The man who cheats is dragged by lust through every open door. The father who terrifies his children is ruled, not ruler. We can now see that these aren’t accidents, they’re wolves running wild.

Luckily, there is beauty in mastery. When a man learns control, his violence becomes protection, the strength to defend instead of destroy. His lust becomes passion, the fire for one woman, not every woman. The wolves don’t disappear, they kneel. They serve. They become his strength, not his shame.

Honestly, that’s what I want for my son. That’s what I want for every boy. To grow into a man who has mastered his wolves before the chains are cut, because a man who can’t control his wolves isn’t a man. He’s a danger! In truth, a man who can command them is not only safe for his family, he is their shelter.

Fathers, the choice is ours. Train the wolves, or watch them devour our sons. We already have boys being raised by their mothers without any male presence, which in itself is a pandemic, a disaster of note.