Share Something Sacred

It’s a beautiful moment when you realize, “our kids are friends now too.” Especially because so much has to go right to even have a chance at a multigenerational relationship.

We had a moment like this yesterday with Jeff and Laura—two of our oldest friends. Between their family and ours, we have eight children ranging from pre-teen to newborn. Only two pairs overlap in age: our two oldest and their two youngest.

Robyn paused us to look out at them, and there they were: all playing kickball, shouting, and laughing in our tiny Detroit backyard. It was the first time they truly felt like friends instead of tentatively spending time together because the adults wanted to hang out. Getting to this moment took years.

This got me thinking: what had to be true for this to happen?

First, you need siblings, cousins, or old friends from a time in your life before kids. Then, you have to have kids yourself. Next, your friends have to have kids too. And on top of all that, you still have to be friends—and in touch—by the time it all lines up.

And that’s just the prerequisite for a shot at a multigenerational relationship. It’s the price of entry.

But even that’s not enough. Multigenerational relationships require shared places. Relationships bloom in a time and place—especially when it’s across two generations, not just one.

Jeff and I, for example, lived in the same dormitory and were roommates for two years in our fraternity house. Later, we all lived in the same loft apartment building in Detroit’s New Center. It was at their dinner table, too, where I wept during the most broken moment of my twenties—the scene where everything I wrote about in Character by Choice: Letters on Goodness, Fatherhood, and Becoming Better on Purpose evolved from. And now, our kids share backyards, parks, and the pitch as soccer teammates.

We have different shared places with siblings, cousins, and then old friends we’ve maintained relationships with. There’s our grandparents’ houses with our cousins; Myrtle Beach and Petoskey, where Robyn used to vacation with her friend Lauren—and now our kids share those places too. There’s “up north,” Florida, and our homes, where we host bi-weekly family dinners and our kids are getting to know their brand new cousins.

To grow, multigenerational relationships need shared places. But shared places, I believe, still aren’t enough.

To span generations, relationships require something sacred.

Multigenerational relationships need more depth. They need gravity—something that draws you together—to last. This is even more essential across generations. You need a reason to stay connected: within the adult generation, within the kids’ generation, and across both. Everyone has to be drawn in and willing to fight for the relationship, especially because the grind of daily life makes even casual relationships difficult.

Liking the same band isn’t enough. A shared interest in sports, a hobby, or a history of drinking beer—none of these are enough. Shared ancestry isn’t enough—plenty of siblings and cousins don’t maintain strong ties. Shared history isn’t enough—plenty of longtime friends have kids that don’t gel. None of these create the gravity needed across generations.

What does draw people together, even over generations, is sharing something sacred. A higher creed, conviction, or core belief—sometimes religious, sometimes not. Shared suffering and its overcoming—that can be sacred, too.

With Jeff and Laura, we’ve never spoken about it explicitly, but looking back, we’ve always shared a belief in living a moral, other-focused, integrated life—demonstrated by nurturing parenting, deep faith, and equal partnership with our spouses. Now, we also have fellowship in our faith and walk together as followers of Christ. We instill these values in our children. We share something sacred—and now our children do, too.

With Robyn’s siblings, we share a belief in the unshakable importance of family and the holiness of quality time, traditions, and being active. We’ve never discussed this outright, but we have rituals that speak to our shared belief in human flourishing—setting goals, nurturing diverse interests, sacrificing for others, living with integrity, becoming values-driven leaders. This came from our parents and is rooted in us, and will continue in all our children. We share something sacred—and our children will too.

That sacred something is the gravity that holds multigenerational relationships together. It keeps us close, even when the machinery of daily life pushes us apart. It gives us something bigger than the relationship itself—something to bind us and band together for.

We need that gravity to help relationships grow and avoid the entropy that inevitably sets in—especially across generations. To have that beautiful moment where we realize, “our kids are friends now too,” we need more than shared history, shared interests, or even shared ancestry.

We need shared places.

And most of all, we must share something sacred.

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And here’s an extra thought because it’s Father’s Day…

I think this idea of sharing something sacred extends beyond multi-generational relationships. It matters for individual relationships too.

I was thinking about what I would write today, insufferably, at 5am, lying awake in bed because I somehow wake up earlier on weekends than on workdays. And I wondered, what is the specific sacred thing I share with each member of our family? Do I share anything sacred with them at all? Will our relationship have gravity even after they don’t have to live under my roof and eat our groceries? Will Robyn and I grow apart as empty nesters?

This was a good exercise: what do I share with each member of my family that is sacred?

With Bo, I share a voracious curiosity and thirst for knowledge. We also, at this point, share a deep sense of faith. He’s shepherded me spiritually as much as I have him.

With Myles, we share an attitude of talent development and determination - I can see this already. He is incredibly oriented around self-improvement in the same way I am, and not for the purpose of being better than others, but from the belief that it’s immoral to not develop our gifts and activate our potential. This is sacred.

Robyn and I, of course, share our vows. Which are self-defining as sacred. But even beyond this, the dream we have for our life - and the values of family, mutual respect, and serving others that underpin that dream - are sacred to us.

With Griffin, his special beautiful life is sacred as is his bravery. I know already that he will be the child we have that teaches me something, most consistently, because of the challenges he may face - which will be equal but markedly different than our other sons. His sacredness is coded in his DNA and in the bravery he has had from birth. We will be connected by this shared experience of suffering his whole life.

But what about Emmett? I panicked a bit when I thought about him. Do we share something sacred? I started tossing and turning in bed, uneasy because nothing came to mind quickly. What do we share that is sacred? Why can’t I think of anything?

What if there wasn’t anything sacred that we shared? Would we drift apart? Would we become one of those pairs of father and son that become more like old roommates than family, over time?

I eventually thought of something sacred we share - an orientation and appreciation of self-reflection and a tuning into the feelings of others - but the lesson remains.

With our kids and partners, if we want a relationship that persists through every phase of life, we have to share something sacred. We have to nurture that sacredness as they grow. And if we don’t know what that specific, sacred thing is yet, we have to find it.