I always looked elsewhere for a lead, and now I see my son doing it.

He’s three. Don’t know if all three-year-olds are like this, coz he’s the first I have. We have a dog. One we took from a dog shelter. My boy finds the dog a perfect companion. Running is fine. Petting her is even better. Showing her toys is ok if it doesn’t turn into using her bed as a parking lot for all of his toy cars.

Bumping into her because he doesn’t stop in time is not. Following her wherever her nose takes her is also not. The dog is just one example of his need to follow something.

He likes to observe others. He stands still, goes into inquisitive mode, and scans people from top to bottom. If they look back, he looks away. Once he gets comfortable enough, he starts following what they are doing. He doesn’t show much initiative, and when he does, others aren’t interested.

Which got me thinking about how I got through that age, whether I could muster some wisdom to help him.

I had an older brother, whom I, at his age, looked at as a supreme being. I would walk around saying, “My brother knows everything.” Mind you, he is a smart guy, so I wasn’t way off. Back then I probably thought he actually knew everything.

We were inseparable. He used to drag me everywhere with him. I always tried my best to make him proud, whether that was sports, games kids play, or just being silent when I didn’t know what they were talking about.

How much of that was two-sided, and how much was it requested by parents, I don’t know. It’s hard to tell from a distance, but I know he was definitely alpha, and I was beta, by how today’s masculine influencers label guys.

My love towards him was limitless.

One summer, he wanted to ride his bike down a steep dirt road. As the biggest fan, I stood at the top and wanted to be as close as possible. When he crashed halfway down, I ran to him, losing both flip-flops in the process. The stones cut my feet up so badly my grandmother thought I was the one who’d fallen. It took explaining we got home because he lost half of his front tooth during the fall.

And then came puberty. He got interested in girls, and dragging a 10-year-old with him was out of the question. I still remember the tears down my face when Mom told me I couldn’t go with him to his friend’s birthday party. Looking at it now, it was the end of an era.

Years went by, and we grew apart. My getting into puberty certainly didn’t help our relationship. We fought almost every day. He loved to sit on my chest, pinning my arms with his knees, enjoying my helplessness.

Our deteriorating relationship is likely one reason why I ended up in rugby. Guess I searched for his replacement. In the process, I formed bonds with guys older than him who he looked up to. These tough mfuckers took me under their wing and protected me on and off the field. After twenty years around them, I’m pretty sure the main reason why they liked me was that I never misused it or boasted about it. Truth be told, having them in my corner was nice. Everyone knew it, so all the bullies avoided me.

One moment stands out from the years I overlapped with my brother at the same high school, and the fact that I still remember it shows how rare those moments were.

He was a senior, and I was a freshman. There was a city-wide football school championship. One Saturday, they were missing a player, and teammates knew he had a younger brother at the same school, so they told him to tag me along.

I was the smallest one on the pitch, but by far the fiercest. I had to justify it. After the match, they all shook my hand in disbelief and were really friendly at school all year. In high school, that was a big deal.

I started playing for the rugby national team soon after I finished high school. At one point, the national team coach dropped me. I trained twice as hard and made my way back into the squad. When he finally called my name again, the relief I felt was the same feeling I’d felt every time my brother had let me tag along.

The pattern repeated again and again into adulthood. I was looking for mentors, but the deeper need was to earn my place wherever I was. I sought the approval of those I saw as better than me. It had to be earned, not something you get by default. The memory of the first time I got it, which ended up in tears, made me earn and re-earn it daily to avoid the hurt.

And then the most unexpected person started to change it. It took having my own little man looking up to me to stop doing that. You can’t be the source of a nod and wait for one yourself.

The strange part is that his love is exactly the kind I learned not to trust as a child. Just there, given without me earning it. He runs to the door when I get home with unconditional laughter, hugs me as hard as he can with grinding teeth, and none of it depends on what I did that day.

And now I have to let it be true while wondering how long it will take my boy to stop following. And whether there is anything I can do to help him do it sooner than I did.