Living Room Wrestling: The Wildness of Connection
Where cushions fly, rules bend, and trust grows
It starts with one kid.
Just a hug. A quick squeeze in the hallway or on the couch.
But if that hug lingers too long, suddenly I’m getting pulled into a full-on wrestling match.
Because apparently in this house, every hug is just a takedown waiting to happen.
Whoever starts it promptly yells for reinforcements —
and like clockwork, you can hear the thunder of footsteps from the other side of the house.
We are a wrestling family, after all.
This isn’t WrestleMania. This is real wrestling.
Double legs, sprawls, escapes, and plenty of wildness.
Eventually, my wife leaves the room. Not out of frustration, but out of self-preservation.
She knows someone or something is bound to get broken.
I try to keep it fair.
I’ll trap one kid and wait for the others to come to the rescue.
It’s like our own little tag-team match
but with snack-stained sweatpants and one sock always mysteriously missing.
Tickling is fair game. So is a surprise ankle pick.
Hunter’s favorite move is a fish hook. Yes, a real one. And it’s as painful as it sounds.
He gets his finger between my teeth and cheek and keeps it hooked there so I can’t bite him.
My old rugby buddies used to break that out at the bottom of a ruck and now it’s made its way to the living room.
If he lands one, I’m toast.
And Drew? Drew licks.
That’s 100% my fault.
We’ve now had to officially declare a “no licking mom” rule — because that crossed a sacred line.
Drew still breaks it. I still get in trouble.
But you know what?
In the flying cushions and tangled limbs, something deeper is happening:
They’re choosing to be close.
To test their strength.
To belong.
The Reflection
It’s not just wildness.
It’s connection.
The kind of connection that can get lost between dads and sons. Lost in the passivity of structure, safety, and kindness that forgets boys need something more.
That wildness? It’s in them.
And it’s in me.
This is one of the ways we get to express it.
It’s one of the ways my wife tolerates (even when it ends in frustration or tears) because she sees it for what it is:
A connection only their dad can give.
When your kids launch into a surprise tackle or full-on wrestling match, it’s not because they’re unruly (well… not just that).
It’s because they feel safe.
Safe enough to play.
Safe enough to test limits.
Safe enough to fail and laugh and try again.
Roughhousing isn’t always rebellion.
Most of the time, it’s relationship.
It teaches boundaries.
It builds trust and resilience.
And it’s one of the fastest ways for a kid to feel seen.
So if you’re tired, sore, and wondering why someone is licking your arm (again)…
Take heart:
You’re not losing control.
You’re building connection.
One double leg at a time.
Scripture to Anchor the Reset
“Let the little children come to me… for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
—Matthew 19:14 (NIV)
Nothing in this scripture hints that Jesus asked kids to be quiet before welcoming them.
I imagine He actually invited them to laugh. To play. To bring their full, wiggly selves.
Picture the awe of a child walking toward Jesus. Nervous. Excited.
I imagine Him crouching down and dropping a halfway-decent dad joke just to put them at ease.
He didn’t demand calm before connection.
He welcomed the noise. The energy. The wildness.
That’s where belonging lives.
A Father’s Wildness
The book Wild at Heart was a turning point for me.
It helped me name what I already felt in my bones:
Fatherhood isn’t about taming boys into obedience.
It’s about helping them channel their wildness into something good.
It reminded me that Jesus wasn’t a man of beige emotions and safety-first living.
He flipped tables. Climbed mountains. Walked straight into storms.
And I get to model that and not just in what I teach,
but in how I wrestle on the living room floor.
That book gave me permission to embrace the mess.
To raise boys with both strength and softness.
To see the wildness not as a flaw but as fuel.
Reset Reminder
The next time someone lunges at you mid-hug…
Don’t miss the invitation.
It might not look like connection but in that living room wrestling match, they’re saying:
“I trust you.”
“I feel safe with you.”
“Let’s be close… even if I have to fish hook you to get there.”
(And seriously — for the love of everyone — enforce the no licking rule.)
Yeah!
We're getting quite good at this!