09/01/2026
This is a long post but it's worth reading...
Loudest Fan in the Stands
September Is For The #1 Fans.
I am an only child. The only daughter of my parents.
From a young age, my dad made sure I knew my worth, no matter the situation. Growing up, my dad would run “mock interview” scenarios with me. He'd have me stand outside his office door, knock, and wait to be invited in. He taught me the importance of a firm handshake and how to carry myself when I walked into a room. "Chin up, Brittany. Shoulders back. You belong in this room." When I filled sentences with "um" or "uhhh," he'd interrupt. "Not 'um.' Say it. You know what to say."
Shy by nature, I've always had a hard time looking people in the eye when I speak, so my dad found a workaround for me. "Look right between their eyes. To them, it'll look like eye contact. To you, it'll feel like less exposure." At restaurants—any restaurant, any scale—I ordered for myself. Always. Never "I'll have," never "can I get," not even "can I please have." If I started with any of those, my dad would stop me. So I'd sit up straighter, look the server in between the eyes, and start again: "MAY I please have..."
What annoyed me growing up seemed like a fun and challenging game to my friends. At sleepovers, they'd beg for their own turn. They'd line up outside my dad's office door for their own mock interview, complete with notes, always with him ending the same way: "Never forget—you belong in the room as much as anyone else. You got it?"
As I got older, the topics shifted. One sleepover, my girlfriends were holding court with my parents in our kitchen—peppering them with questions about school, sports, college, drama, and of course, boys. One friend finally asked, "But how do you know if a guy actually likes you?"
My dad didn't miss a beat. "Oh, you'll know. And if you don't, then he doesn't. But that's the wrong question. It doesn't just matter if he likes you, it matters if he's paying attention. Next time a guy tells you he likes you, close your eyes and ask him to describe your eye color. If he can't do something that simple, he isn’t paying enough attention, and if he isn't paying enough attention, he isn't worth another minute of your time." Then he exited the kitchen, stage right, to the sound of shrieks and teenage giggles.
A lot of sophomore boys were broken up with that year.
At sixteen, a boy honked from the driveway to pick me up for a date. My dad said one word—"Nope"—and I wasn't allowed outside.
Eventually, the boy came to the door, and my dad took the opportunity to invite him in to sit down with both of us. Suffice it to say, a boy never simply honked again.
If I trace every standout memory I have of my dad back to one thread, it's this: he was my number one fan.
The thread is pulled through how he taught me not to be afraid to take up space. It's there in the strange, wonderful mix of his feminism and his chivalry. It's there in how he repeatedly taught me to “leave everything you have on the field Brittany”—the track field, the soccer field, the cheer mat, the stage, the audition room, the interview chair. It didn't matter which field. It just mattered that it was mine.
Every rule my dad made, every scene he staged, every embarrassing kitchen monologue, was really just one long sentence: I am paying attention to you. I am in your corner. I fully and completely believe in you.
That's what being a number one fan is all about. It's not about telling a teenager they're right about everything. I wasn’t. Or that every choice they make is a good one. Mine weren’t!
It's about being so unmistakably for them that they can take real risks, hear real correction, try—AND REALLY FAIL—knowing there's someone on the sideline who isn't going anywhere.
This September, Axis is helping unpack the #1 Fan in all of us.
Fans V2
This Week:
Take a few minutes to sit with your role as a #1 fan in your teen’s life. Ask yourself:
In what specific ways would my teen know that I am proud of simply who they are and not necessarily what they do?
What does my teen light up about right now? Do I know enough about their world to recognize what matters deeply to them?
Am I better at noticing what my teen needs to improve or what they’re already doing well? Which one do they hear about more often?
Do I make it safe for my teen to fail? When they mess up, do they experience me primarily as a critic, a fixer, a coach, or someone firmly in their corner?
Where might my hopes for my teen be getting confused with my hopes for myself? Am I cheering for the person they’re becoming—or the person I wanted them to become?
Ask yourself the questions. And then resist the urge to turn your answers into a parenting project.
You don’t need to manufacture a big moment this week. In fact, please don’t.
Just pay attention.
Notice what your teen is working at. What they’re worried about. What they’re proud of (but pretending not to be). Notice where they’re taking a risk. Notice the things that are becoming distinctly, unmistakably them.
And then name those things—specifically.
To this day—forty years old, five kids deep—I cannot leave my dad's house without him telling me, specifically, why he's proud of me. When I roll my eyes and say "thanks, Dad," he calls me back and says it again. "No, kid. I mean it. I could not be more proud of the woman you are."
One of the things my dad understood is that confidence is rarely—if ever—built by telling someone to be confident. It’s built, slowly, by being known. By having someone pay close enough attention to see the good things that are in you, and then reflect those things back to you.
Our teenagers are becoming themselves in real time. We don’t get to decide exactly who that person will be—and thank God!—but we do get a front-row seat to the magic of them becoming.
And what a privilege to be the person in it who’s paying attention.
Cheering you on,
Brie Naughton & The Axis Team
