Embracing the Awkward: A Father’s Guide to Middle Childhood

Most parents think the teenage years are when everything changes. They’re not.The real shift often begins earlier—during the middle years, long before we expect it.

I recently spoke to parents at my children’s school about the book The Crucial Years: The Essential Guide to Mental Health and Modern Puberty in Middle Childhood (Ages 6–12) by psychologist Dr. Sheryl Gonzalez Ziegler. As a child psychiatrist and a parent of three, I still found myself learning a great deal. One insight that stood out: the onset of puberty is occurring earlier with each passing decade. That shift has meaningful implications for both boys and girls—and for us as parents.

The Crucial Years: The Essential Guide to Mental Health and Modern Puberty in Middle Childhood (Ages 6-12)

The book is organized into three main sections: understanding middle childhood, building the foundation of a healthy relationship, and navigating the tougher topics. It’s a thoughtful, practical read. I found myself returning to it, making notes in the margins, and reflecting on how its ideas apply not only in clinical work but at home. If you have the chance, I also recommend listening to Dr. Gonzalez Ziegler speak in podcast interviews.

Here are some of my key takeaways—especially relevant for fathers.

Crucial years for kids AND parents

These years are not only formative for children—they are pivotal for parents. This is a window where our influence still carries real weight, before it begins to shift more heavily toward peers in adolescence.

What we build here matters. A strong connection, open communication, and a sense of psychological safety don’t just help children now—they shape whether they will turn to us later, when it matters most.

For fathers, this means being curious, open-minded, and clear in how we communicate. We cannot assume our children understand what we think or feel. In silence, they often fill in the gaps themselves—sometimes inaccurately.

Being explicit matters. Especially when it comes to communicating acceptance.

The awkward years are awkward - for everyone

The middle years bring the early stages of puberty, exposure to sex education, identity exploration, and, increasingly, access to age-inappropriate content. It’s an inherently awkward time.

It’s awkward for kids. And it’s often just as awkward for us.

Most of us didn’t grow up having open conversations about these topics. As parents, we can feel unsure—when is the right time? What if we say too much, too soon?

The reality is that many children are already encountering these topics—through peers, media, or online spaces. Silence doesn’t protect them; it just leaves them to figure things out alone.

These conversations are not one-time events. They are ongoing, evolving discussions that grow alongside the child.

You don’t need to have all the answers. In fact, you won’t. Kids will ask unexpected questions. It’s okay to say, “That’s a great question—let me think about it and get back to you.”

What matters most is that the door is open.

When we talk about the hard things early, our kids are more likely to come back to us later.

Embrace the awkwardness—it’s part of the process.

Puberty starts earlier than we think

One of the most important reminders from the book is that puberty begins in the brain—often one to two years before any visible physical changes.

Before breast development in girls or testicular changes in boys, there are already hormonal shifts affecting mood, thinking, and behaviour. You might notice irritability, changing interests, or differences in how your child solves problems.

Puberty is not a smooth or uniform process. It varies widely between children, and even within the same child, development can be uneven.

A child may show increased maturity in one area while regressing in another. Emotional outbursts, heightened sensitivity, or even a temporary return to younger behaviors are all part of this process.

These changes are not signs of failure—they are signs of development.

Rethinking how we talk about appearance

As children grow, adults often default to commenting on physical changes—especially height. It feels harmless, even positive. But children are already acutely aware of how they compare to their peers.

Some feel too tall. Others feel too small. Neither experience is neutral, and neither is within their control.

I try to avoid focusing on appearance altogether. Not perfectly—but intentionally.

Instead, growth can be an opportunity to shift our curiosity inward:

• What are you interested in these days?

• What are you listening to?

• What world problems are you thinking about or trying to solve?

  
  

When we focus less on how children look and more on who they are becoming, we reinforce a deeper sense of identity and self-worth.

Practice the conversation before you have it

One of the most practical suggestions in the book is to use clear, accurate language when talking about bodies and development. No euphemisms needed.

But before we even get there, there’s an important step: practice saying these things out loud.

Talk to yourself. Talk to your partner. Talk to a friend. The more we say the words, the less awkward they become.

Before giving this talk at the school, I tested this idea at a parent social. I asked another father whether he had talked to his kids about sex. He laughed and admitted he had, though maybe not as smoothly as he’d hoped.

When he asked me the same question, I told him I first explained sex to my son, not under the sheets but under an electron microscope—walking through meiosis and mitosis. He laughed. Probably because it sounded even more ridiculous than his approach.

The truth is, none of us get this perfectly right.

But talking about it—reading, reflecting, even stumbling through awkward conversations—moves us closer to getting it right when it counts.

Why talking matters

Language helps us make sense of our experiences. Without it, emotions can feel confusing or overwhelming, and we’re more likely to act them out rather than talk about them.

Talking brings clarity. It reduces isolation. It strengthens connection.

And connection is what protects our kids.

For many children, that connection starts—and is sustained—through their relationship with their father.