One of the things I’ve had to learn as a step-father is “the stern voice”, the voice of fatherly authority. Nothing cuts across the cacophony of children of play or the havoc of an inter-sibling argument like the stern voice, an often it’s the only way to get through to a misbehaving child who won’t otherwise take you seriously.

And yet, I hate it. I am by nature a mild-mannered fellow, quiet of voice and generally slow to anger. I rarely raise my voice and I really dislike doing so even when it’s called for. Speaking sternly is so out of character for me that all three kids are genuinely surprised, scared even, whenever I dig deep and call it forward. I hate the look of fear that comes into their eyes when the stern voice is called for — it feels like a betrayal of the agreement between us, the unwritten contract that spells out the terms of our relationship.

I suppose that’s a good thing, in the end. It means I’m not overusing the stern voice, which in turn means I’m not abusing what little authority I’ve been granted in the household. And when it’s necessary to turn stern — when a child is putting himself or someone else in danger, for instance — they listen, at least for the moment.

But I still hate it.

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