Stephen Graham is asking dads to write letters. I worry it's not enough.
I wrote a letter to my son at 6am yesterday.
He was still asleep upstairs.
And yeah—I cried.
But here's the thing that hit me as I folded it up:
This is only 50% useful if I don't read it to him.
Let me explain.
You might've seen that Stephen Graham—the actor from Adolescence—just launched a global appeal asking fathers to write letters to their sons about what it means to be a man.
Beautiful idea.
Hundreds of dads responded saying the Netflix show gave them permission to finally talk. Really talk.
Which is incredible.
But also heartbreaking.
Because it took a TV show about toxic masculinity to unlock what should've been happening all along.
Graham said there's "an even bigger disconnect between fathers and sons than ever before."
I think he's right.
But I'd go further:
It's not just fathers and sons.
It's parents and adult children—across the board.
Mums and daughters. Grandparents and grandkids.
We're living at lightspeed. Work. Kids. The scroll. The never-ending mental load.
And in all that noise, we've lost the space for the conversations that actually matter.
The ones about childhood memories. Regrets. Dreams. What shaped them.
The stories that explain who they are.
I posted about this on whatsapp group with close mates recently and one friend responded:
"I know someone who's set up an email for their son and writes to it every so often. The idea is to give him access when he's older."
I love that.
But I also thought: Why are we waiting?
Why are we scribbling down thoughts and burying them in inboxes or drawers?
Is it because we don't know how to have the conversation?
Because if that's the case—let's just admit it and do something about it.
Six other friends saw my post. Said nothing. Fair enough—busy lives.
One said: "Good idea, I should do that."
Translation: I won't.
Here's what I've learned after 240+ hours of guided conversations with families:
Everyday life doesn't give us the space for depth.
Especially if you're a man.
We weren't taught how. It wasn't modeled. We default to surface-level.
So when I created the Complete Family Experience around capturing life stories, I realized something:
By centering it on the parent's story, you create a side door into deeper connection.
The starting point is: Tell me about your childhood.
What you actually get is: This is what shaped me. This is what I feared. This is what I learned.
It opens up events, thoughts, stories that have impacted their life.
It's easier than saying: "Let's talk about our relationship."
But it creates a new pathway in the connective tissue of how you relate.
We're governed by habits.
The way we talk is no different.
What the letter-writing initiative does—and what any intentional tool does—is disrupt the pattern.
It gives permission.
So I love Graham's project.
I hope more dads write letters. More mums. More grandparents.
But I also hope those letters don't just sit on a page.
I hope they're read aloud over a cup of tea.
On a dog walk.
Over a Sunday roast.
I hope they become conversations—not artifacts buried for "later."
Because later has a way of never arriving.
My dad, Patrick, passed in 2021 after a long battle with dementia.
Six days later, my son was born.
I gave him Dad’s name.
And I realized: there were so many questions I never asked.
Stories I never heard.
Moments I can't get back.
I would give anything to hear his voice again.
That's why I'm writing this.
That's why I started Me & My Old Man.
Not to preserve memories for some distant future. In fact, I don’t use the word ‘preserve’ in anything I write, except like now where I’m saying how I don’t like it.
But to create connection now—while there's still time.
So here's my question for you:
What stories are you holding onto for next week?
What are you writing in a letter to your child that you could just share today?
What don't you know about your mum or dad?
Because one day, you'll wish you had asked.
And by then, the opportunity will have passed.
—Neil
P.S. I'm going to send my letter to Stephen Graham's project—and I'm also going to read it to my son. Because the words only matter if they're shared.