Fatherhood Needs More NPCs

Forget Being the Main Character, Raise the Hero Instead

We live in the age of main characters.

Social media is flooded with people curating cinematic lives, chasing glow-up arcs, and narrating their every moment like they’re the star of a prestige drama. The idea is seductive: that your life should feel like a video game or movie built around you. And to be fair, there’s something empowering about seeing yourself as the protagonist, with the people around you nothing more than NPCs, Non-Player Characters who serve only to further your quest. It’s also woefully self-indulgent.

But here’s the catch: in most video games, the protagonist is messy, self-centered, and always in crisis. Meanwhile, the NPC is the one who keeps the world running. They don’t seek attention, rather they offer direction, stability, and support. In the background, they make the story possible.

Being a good parent isn’t about main character energy. It’s about consistency, humility, and purpose. It’s about showing up - not showing off.

Fatherhood needs more NPCs. And we’ve got the perfect example.

The Professor Oak Model of Parenting

If you’ve ever played Pokémon, you know Professor Oak. He’s the wise old scientist who gives you your first Pokémon, hands over a Pokédex, and sends you off to chase your destiny. He doesn’t fight gym battles. He doesn’t insert himself into the drama. He equips you, encourages you, and lets you go.

Now, to be fair, I can’t say I endorse Professor Oak’s method of sending 10-year-olds out into the wilderness to raise feral animals for state-sanctioned cockfights. But his role in the story is undeniably powerful. He’s the one who starts the journey, gives you the tools you need, and believes in your potential before you’ve done anything to earn it.

Go child, take this electric rat and seek your fortune.

That’s what NPC energy looks like. And it’s what parenting often requires.

In a world where parents are constantly pressured to “maximize their impact” and post proof of their parenting excellence, Oak’s example might feel unnatural. He doesn’t need the spotlight. He builds the world around the hero and then steps back. That kind of humility, quiet strength, and long-view presence? It’s exactly what kids need more of.

What Main Character Energy Gets Wrong

Main character energy promises fulfillment through attention, aesthetics, and control. But parenting doesn’t work that way. There’s no standing ovation when you rock a toddler to sleep for the third time in one night. No dramatic lighting when you’re folding laundry during nap time or cleaning up spaghetti from the wall.

Main character energy craves transformation arcs and applause. Parenting requires rhythm and stability. Children don’t need you to be captivating - they need you to be consistent. They need to know that when everything else feels uncertain, they can count on you to be there: tired, maybe, but present.

This doesn’t mean abandoning ambition or self-expression. Quite the opposite. Choosing to be an NPC is about redirecting your agency. It’s not about disappearing, it’s about anchoring. Your life still has meaning and growth, but it’s no longer the only story that matters. And that shift is what makes space for something more enduring: the growth of someone else.

What NPC Parents Actually Do

NPC parents change the game by doing the most ordinary things with extraordinary consistency.

They refill snack cups. They set bedtime routines. They remember where the favorite stuffed animal was last seen. These moments don’t make for compelling Instagram reels, but they hold a child’s world together.

In video games, no matter how many times you approach an NPC, they say the same thing. It’s repetitive, predictable, and exactly the point. That steady presence creates structure. As parents, we live this daily: repeating ourselves endlessly, offering the same comforts, setting the same boundaries. It can feel monotonous, but for a child, that kind of consistency builds trust.

Professor Oak never demands recognition. He’s not trending. He’s in the lab, quietly shaping the next generation’s success. He doesn’t go on the journey, but the journey can’t begin without him.

And that journey requires you to make your pet lizard fight this turtle.

That’s what real parenting looks like. You’re in the lab. You’re the resource. You’re the one who shows up again and again - not for applause, but because someone needs you to. You become the quiet voice in the back of their mind saying, “You can do this.”

Let Them Be the Hero

Here’s one of the hardest truths for any parent to swallow: the story you’re building is no longer about you. It’s about them.

Your job is not to be the protagonist. It’s to help raise one. And that requires you to know when to lead, when to support, and when to step back entirely.

Professor Oak doesn’t micromanage. He doesn’t send passive-aggressive emails complaining to the gym boss you can’t beat or pop up in every town to deliver unsolicited advice. He gives you the tools. He shows belief. And then… he gets out of the way.

And only when we get out of the way can our children fulfill their true purpose: bringing down the mafia? Seriously, who writes these games?!

That’s the model. Parents don’t need to narrate their child’s life. They need to create space for their children to explore, fall down, get back up, and figure out who they are - knowing that they have someone solid behind them the entire time.

That doesn’t mean disappearing. Quite the opposite. It means being present, dependable, and clear-eyed: offering guidance when wanted, boundaries when needed, and love always. It means being the steady force in your child’s life, not because you agree with every choice they make, but because you’re committed to helping them grow through all of it.

The Legacy of the Background Character

At some point, your name won’t be the one on the marquee. Your story will fade to the background, but your influence won’t.

The people we remember most aren’t always the loudest or flashiest. They’re the ones who were there when it mattered. The ones who didn’t make everything about them. The ones who showed up over and over, with quiet faith and steady hands.

You don’t need to be the hero to live a meaningful life as a parent. You just need to help raise one.

So pour the juice. Pack the bag. Give the advice. Show up. Over and over and over again.

Because maybe the best stories don’t need a spotlight. Maybe they just need someone steady in the background - believing, building, and staying.