Always Tell a Child the Truth

When I was about 10, I learned that Santa Claus did not exist. I was furious with my parents. I remember going up to them and saying, “What else are you lying to me about? Does Hawaii exist? The Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy?”

Kids have to rely on somebody to tell them what is true and what is not. I believe that always telling a child the truth is one of my most fundamental responsibilities as a parent, grandparent, or youth hockey coach. Reality exists, A is A, and the only way to make good life decisions is to know what is fact and what is fiction.

The phrase does not mean that I’m going to lecture kids about all sorts of things usually learned later in life, such as the poverty that exists in parts of the world. I’m not going to walk up to my five-year-old grandson and out of the blue tell him, “Hey, are you aware there is no Santa Claus?” But if he ever asks me, I’m going to tell him the truth.

I remember a time when my son was about 9. My wife invited a couple to dinner. She knew the woman very well but had never met the husband. I had never met either of them. They spent a few hours at our house, and my son was around much of the time. After the couple left, my son asked me, “Dad, that guy is a jerk, right?” He was not trying to insult the man, he was trying to confirm that his observational skills were working correctly. He knew I always answered his questions truthfully. Rather than go down the path of “Don’t say things like that about adults,” I just said, “Yes, he is a jerk.” End of conversation.

I have found that many people strongly disagree with me on this point. They want to shield a child from knowing certain things. There are huge arguments about sex education in schools. Kids are not supposed to read certain books, see certain movies, or visit certain websites, all in the hope of shielding them from some unpleasant truth about the world.

When writing this book, I considered removing any controversial phrases, and this is one of them. If you disagree or think I am wrong, I completely respect that. I encourage you to move on to the next phrase. The goal is not to prove that any given phrase is wrong. The goal is to find one—any one—that helps you even a little bit.

“Always Tell a Child the Truth” reminds me that kids are way smarter than I used to give them credit for. They learn at an incredible rate, and if presented with correct facts and data, they quickly discover how to apply them and deal with the world. I don’t use “baby talk” with kids. I talk to them as I would an adult, with respect for their intelligence. If I give them no information, false information, or dumbed-down baby talk, I’m handicapping them.

Good Boys Don’t Do That

I was with a group that included many children. One of the boys tossed a small rock at another boy and hit him in the arm. The boy’s mother said, “Don’t throw things at other people. Good boys don’t do that, and you’re a good boy.”

At first, I thought the mother was sending the wrong message. The kid had just thrown a rock at somebody, and she used the words “good boy” twice in the same sentence. The reprimand I expected was something like, “Bad boy. Don’t throw rocks at people.” But then I started thinking that perhaps this mother had it exactly right. She was separating the behavior from the boy’s self-image. The behavior was bad. The boy was not.

It seems obvious to me that it is better for this kid to think of himself as a “good boy” who occasionally does something wrong than as a “bad boy.” I have six male grandchildren, and I would like all of them to think of themselves as good boys. When one of them does something wrong, I’m going to try to remember the lesson I learned from that mother: “Good boys don’t do that.”

I’m 73, and I guess you really can teach an old dog new tricks.

It’s Good to Have Heroes But Nobody’s Perfect

I like to have heroes, people that I admire and try to emulate. Heroes remind me of the wonderful things that can be achieved. The negative, frightening 24-hour news cycle of today can be very discouraging, and heroes counteract that for me.

When I was younger, I thought my heroes could do no wrong, that everything they said and did was perfect. When I discovered that one of my heroes made a mistake or acted badly, I was upset and tempted to drop them as a hero. It was as if the mistake or bad behavior invalidated all the great things that made them a hero in the first place.

A hundred years ago, the media often helped build heroes up and sometimes ignored or downplayed their flaws. Babe Ruth was presented as much more than a baseball player who hit lots of home runs. There were stories about the great things he did off the field, including visiting sick children in hospitals. His drinking, carousing, and other bad behavior did get reported at times, but the overall image was still very much “The Babe,” the larger-than-life hero.

Today’s media is entirely different. Rather than build heroes up, there is a tendency to tear them down. If Babe Ruth played in 2026, we would probably read a great deal about his philandering, drinking, carousing, and irritability. His flaws might get much more attention than his home runs.

“It’s Good to Have Heroes But Nobody’s Perfect” reminds me to have heroes and to concentrate on the admirable things they do and not the non-perfect. It also reminds me to expect a negative review of my heroes in the media, and perhaps from someone I talk to about them.

I love the works of Ayn Rand and learned a great deal from her, but I don’t agree with everything she believed. Sometimes when I mention Rand to someone, I get negative feedback: “She had some dumb ideas.” Of course she did. She was human. But she is still a hero to me because of her great mind and because she created a work such as Atlas Shrugged.

I admire Elon Musk for the incredible number of companies he has founded, co-founded, or helped build. I started and ran just one company, and it kept me fully occupied. He has also helped create thousands of high-paying jobs. I also like the fact that he pursues his dreams. He wants humans to reach Mars, and he is doing everything he can to make that happen.

However, Ayn Rand and Elon Musk are controversial, and if I mention them in casual conversation, I often hear about their personality issues, quirks, and failures. Yes, many of those criticisms may be true, but that is not why I admire these people.

I like to have “heroes,” but I talk about them differently to other people. I don’t really admire the person as much as what they achieved. I now like to think, and say, “I admire many of the things Ayn Rand and Elon Musk achieved.” This invites a conversation focused on what I actually admire, rather than triggering an analysis of the person.

You Can Be the Parent, Boss, or Coach—and Friend

Over my 73 years, I’ve had three important roles: parent, boss, and hockey coach. I have often heard, “You can’t be their parent and their friend at the same time.” I’ve also repeatedly heard that you can’t be their boss or coach and their friend. I think this is wrong. How I try to be a parent, boss, or coach and also a friend could fill an entire book. The phrase reminds me how I want to approach the relationship.

Set Expectations

I make it clear that the primary relationship is parent to child, boss to employee, or coach to player. I’m the one who sets the rules and enforces them. I will listen and often implement their ideas, but if there is a conflict, I’m the boss. If my decision hurts the friendship, then so be it. Being a friend does not mean changing the rules for them.

Do Things Together That Friends Would Do

I try to spend time with the other person doing things a friend would do, rather than always acting like “the boss.”

I loved spending time with employees, both at work and outside the workplace. I “managed by wandering around,” which meant I had very few formal meetings and would stop by someone’s desk and chat, often about things that had nothing to do with work. I also took employees skiing and golfing and on yearly trips to places such as Jamaica. I tried to make our conversations 95 percent about things other than work.

As a youth hockey coach, I made sure that on road trips we stayed in the same hotel, ate together, went bowling, visited amusement parks, and had pizza parties by the pool. When talking with a young player, I spoke with the same respect and tone I used with adults. Again, I tried to make most of our time together about something other than hockey. I also used positive coaching, complimenting good play rather than constantly pointing out mistakes.

As a parent, I spent time doing things the kids loved to do—going to playgrounds, swimming, playing games, and just hanging out. I talked to them with respect and told them the truth when they asked questions. Those are things a good friend would do.

Set and Enforce Rules Dispassionately

I try to “pick my battles” and have as few rules as possible. I give the other person as much freedom to make choices and decisions as I reasonably can. The rules I do have are as clear as possible, and I try to enforce them calmly and respectfully.

As a boss, I had a rule that I negotiated salaries, bonuses, and promotions only in January. This allowed me to evaluate everyone at the same time. It also freed employees and me from being distracted by those issues throughout the year. Occasionally, someone would come to me in the middle of the year wanting a raise. My response would be something like, “Hey, you know the policy. I only do this once a year. You’re doing a great job, and things are looking good for January.” If the person continued arguing, I might say, “Look, I think of you as a friend, but the rule is the rule, and we’re done talking about it.”

As a coach, I had a rule that the kids could screw around and be as loud as they wanted in the locker room until fifteen minutes before game time. Then we switched to “game mode.” Game mode meant playtime was over and it was time to sit quietly and pay attention. Everyone knew that if they disrupted the team after game mode started, they would not play the first period.

If I had to enforce the rule, I never raised my voice. I might say almost jokingly, “Hey, Tommy, you’re screwing around and we’re in game mode. What’s the rule?” Most of the time the answer was, “Oops, I guess I don’t play the first period.” Exactly. No anger required.

I’ve had hundreds of employees and players over the years, and obviously I did not become close friends with all of them. That isn’t the point. The phrase reminds me of the fundamental way I want to approach these relationships: I can be the person in charge, enforce the rules, and still treat the other person like a friend. And every once in a while, I’ve been lucky enough for the friendship to last after the employee moved on, the player grew up, or the child became an adult.

A Good Result May Not Be Enough

I have coached youth hockey for over 30 years. When I was in my 20s, I was head coach of a team of 17- to 19-year-old players in the Los Angeles area. They were a tough batch of kids, and I had a hard time getting them to play the way I wanted them to. They pretty much ignored what I said and did whatever they wanted. They had talent, but it was wasted.

About halfway through the year, the Los Angeles Kings hired a consultant to help their coaches improve the team. My team practiced in the same rink as the Kings, and this man would occasionally watch my practices. He volunteered to help us for free, and our hockey association took him up on his offer. I was no longer really the head coach—I was his assistant.

The first game he coached with me, our best player skated the length of the ice, faked out three opponents, and made a very difficult shot to score a goal. The problem was that another player was wide open, and the correct move was to make the pass for an easy goal.

Most coaches would have congratulated the player for scoring a goal. Not this guy. He knew there was no way the team would go very far with selfish behavior. When the player got back to the bench, the coach said, “Go to the locker room and take off your stuff. You are off the team.” The message was clear to me: A good result was not enough. Scoring a goal was a great result, but in the long run, the selfish behavior made the team weaker, not stronger.

The players got the message as well and started to listen to and implement everything he said. He let the goal scorer come back on the team a few weeks later, and that player never made the mistake of failing to pass again. We won a national championship that year.

I have applied the principle of “a good result may not be enough” in my business. I had a salesperson close a big deal—to “score the goal.” However, he had lied to the customer about some features. I eventually had to let him go.

“A good result may not be enough” reminds me to ask myself, “What is the actual result I want?” That coach didn’t want to score one goal; he wanted to maximize the team’s potential. I didn’t want to get a sale at all costs; I wanted to run a respected company.

You Can Be a Competitor Without Hating to Lose

All my life I heard coaches in the media say they loved a particular player because he “really hates to lose.” It was always said as a compliment. I am a competitor, and I like to win but I don’t hate losing with the passion and intensity the coaches seemed to want. I was worried that something was wrong with me and I must be missing this element the great players had. My view changed when I heard the Bill Walsh story.

Bill Walsh coached the San Francisco 49ers and won three Super Bowls. He is considered one of the greatest football coaches of all time. He also hated to lose. His son said Walsh told him privately that “winning meant nothing. Losing meant everything.” He retired right after winning his third Super Bowl, at age 57. In the locker room, a broadcaster asked him if he had coached his last game, and he broke down sobbing in his son’s arms. He wasn’t celebrating the win. He was relieved it was over. He later regretted quitting.

Here was a guy who hated to lose with such an intensity that it drove him to quit coaching the 49ers, something he loved. He also couldn’t function for 2-4 days after a loss because losing put him into such a funk. Was this really an ideal I wanted to strive for? Nope.

What I really enjoy is being with the guys, competing. I enjoy the game whether we win or lose. I realized there was nothing wrong with me, that I actually had the right idea.

I adopted this philosophy when coaching youth hockey, which can be summarized by a pep talk I gave a team of 10-year-olds before a championship game:

Barry: This is the championship game and if we win I am going to take the entire team to Laser Quest.

Player: Coach, what is going to happen if we lose?

Barry: If we lose I’m going to take the entire team to Laser Quest.

Player (with a puzzled look): But, Coach, that’s the same thing.

Barry: Right. And when you understand that you will understand where winning fits.

About 8 years later, one of the players from that team came up to me and said, “I get it, I know what you were trying to tell me about winning all those years ago—you were telling me to try as hard as I possibly can, but win, lose, or draw, make sure to leave it at the rink and go have a great time in life.”

You May Have No Idea You Helped Somebody a Great Deal

I like to help people, particularly young people, learn how to navigate the world.

I remember talking with a friend about why some people were great human beings and others were not. There seemed to be a lot of reasons, some hereditary and some environmental. At one point he told me a joke that was actually great wisdom. The joke goes, “There are three ways you can become a good person. You can have great parents, you can run into someone who teaches you, or psychotherapy.”

I want to be that person someone can run into who helps them, and I use coaching youth hockey as my platform. My hockey seasons run about six months and involve spending a great deal of time together, with over 150 games and practices, along with extensive travel for entire weekends. The players hear a lot of “Barryisms,” the phrases in this book.

I’ve coached about 30 years with an average of 15 kids on the team, for 450 total. Toss in another 450 for the siblings that come along on the trips and it’s 900 or more. Sometimes it seems like I’m not having much of an impact on any of them. The average age is about 12, and 12-year-olds can appear not to pay much attention to what I’m saying or doing. It can be discouraging. “Am I getting through to any of these kids?”

I had one player who had a bad reputation. Other coaches told me, “You are going to get John Smith next year. He doesn’t listen to anything, he will destroy your team, he is a terror.” He had been suspended multiple times from school, would argue with teachers, parents, and anybody else he came in contact with. He was angry at the world, a rebel without a cause.

When John showed up at my first practice, I told him, “I want the hockey rink to be a refuge for you, a place where you can just be a kid. I’m not going to talk to you again this year unless you have a question.” And that is pretty much what I did, just left him alone to enjoy the game and his friends.

I coached this kid for a few years and then lost track of him. About 15 years later I ran into him. We chatted for a while and he told me, “You know, Coach, in my entire childhood you were one of the few adults who didn’t scream at me.” He went on to talk about how hockey was the only thing he looked forward to. He felt that it had kept him going.

I had helped this person, and I had no idea I had done so. I had not given lectures. I just left him alone. After that point, when I was coaching, I no longer thought, “Am I really helping any of these kids?” Yes, I am. You just never know who, and may never know.

This principle motivates me to finish this book. I hope it will help someone, even a little bit. I may never know for sure.