BACK IN MY first years of being an uncle, the role seemed to consist entirely of wrestling. I wrestled my niece and nephew in the yard. I wrestled them on the beach. I wrestled them on the couch. Being an uncle was easy: All I had to do was let the kids lovingly beat me up. But now, after uncling for nearly a decade, I’ve come to see the role as less of a never-ending wrestling match. Being an uncle has taught me to lean into my playful, nurturing side; it’s taught me when to be firm, and it’s taught me to think about what it means to be a good man. And, of course, my wrestling game has never been better.
For 99 percent of human history, our species lived in close-knit communities where children grew up with many male role models, from uncles to grandfathers to family friends. At the same time, men of all ages had to participate in the fun and frustrations of raising kids. Our suburbanized, nuclear-family communities of today, however, couldn’t look more different: Kids have fewer day-to-day male role models (the number of male elementary school teachers like me is at an all-time low of 11 percent), only half of all Americans live near extended family, and many men aren’t having kids at all. What this adds up to is a missing emotional experience for children and adult men alike. Enter the uncle: There is nothing quite like us—our nieces and nephews don’t need us for survival, yet we have the power to shake up their lives and our own in the best of ways.
My wife and I hosted our niece and nephew, now 9 and 6, for their first-ever sleepover in 2020. We taught them how to raid the kitchen, how to pull an April Fools’ Day prank, how to play hooky. Play is a key part of life at all ages, and as adults, we don’t get nearly enough.
But put on your uncle hat and suddenly you’re building blanket forts again. You’re breaking out your old comic books to introduce your nephew to Wolverine. You’re buying your niece her first gas station scratch ticket. Double-bouncing on a trampoline, playing arcade games, headbanging to Nirvana, getting ice cream before noon? If this is uncling, count me in.
Play is healthy for adults, but it’s vital for kids. Children build confidence when they feel they’ve succeeded in something new and “risky,” especially when done with a trusted adult who isn’t a parent. Kids are used to Mom and Dad holding their hands through new experiences. They are not as used to Uncle Nick telling them, Sure, jump in that tide pool, step closer to that crashing wave, crawl through that culvert, climb that tree, touch that live lobster. While it’s true that a parent can encourage these things, what I’ve seen in my classroom year after year, and what I’ve experienced with my niece and nephew, is this: Kids get a stronger hit of independence, novelty, and risk when they do something new with another trusted adult. And we uncles get that warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from helping a kid do something on their own.
Being an uncle isn’t all laughter and wrestling. Last summer, when my wife and I had the kids for a week, my nephew was running around getting spaghetti sauce everywhere. While my wife cleaned a couch cushion, I gave my nephew a choice: eat at the table or stay back tomorrow, cleaning, while the rest of us go to the candy store. He pouted and said he wanted to go home to his mom. I told him that we’d miss him tomorrow while we were all at the candy store. He started crying. He isn’t used to mean Uncle Nick. But I held firm, he dragged himself to the table, and all was well.
As uncles, we have a fundamental job: We must help prevent our nephews and nieces from becoming little shitheads who might grow into adult shitheads. Kids need boundaries to learn to be safe and respectful, and they need these boundaries set (and enforced!) by adults who are not their parents. Why? Kids behave differently away from Mom and Dad. (I see this in my job as a fourth-grade teacher, when parents are often pleasantly surprised to learn how organized/polite/respectful their child behaves at school.) I’ll be honest, though—discipline isn’t easy for me as an uncle. I don’t have children of my own, so I’m often thinking, What the hell do I know?
I try to remind myself that disciplining isn’t being mean; it’s helping prevent little human beings I love from becoming sociopaths. One thing I’ve learned from teachers, parents, and caregivers is to offer kids two clear choices. With my niece and nephew, this sounds like “Stop scratching or I’m not wrestling anymore. Your choice, little dude.” Or “You can play Go Fish by the rules or we’re done playing—you decide.” If the behavior doesn’t change, I simply walk away. When I end a wrestling match abruptly because my nephew won’t stop scratching, that sends an immediate message. When I put down my cards for good, my niece gets it loud and clear that people won’t play with cheaters.
Is this as gratifying as taking them out of school early to buy scratch tickets and eat ice cream? Nope. But it’s rewarding in a different way, and in the long run, it might be even more important. We’re going to be in these kids’ lives for a long time. Don’t we want to know that we uncles helped to raise them into people we want to hang out with?
Plenty about uncling applies to being an aunt, but this last bit is just for the dudes: As uncles, we have the chance to help our nephews figure out how to be healthier men in the world. I used to tutor in Maine’s juvenile prison. I’ll never forget one boy who wanted help writing a letter to his uncle. The boy was bruised and bandaged, recovering from a brutal fight. When I suggested sharing what had happened, he laughed. “My uncle would think I’m a pussy for losing.”
It’s scary how easily society can teach boys to squash their emotions, to mistake curiosity for vulnerability, to never risk sharing a weakness or fault. As my nephew grows up in our digital era, he’s absorbing more than I ever did at his age, including all these negative messages about masculinity that many of us men still grapple with. It makes me wonder: What can we uncles do to counteract the barrage of shitty messaging?
I try by wrestling my nephew and saying how much I love him. Instead of talking in parallel, as many of us guys have learned (“I did x over the weekend.” “I did y!”), I try asking questions, expressing interest, modeling conversation, even with the most mind-numbing subjects. (“That’s amazing; tell me more about this video game I have never heard of and will never play.”) Above all, I try to make it clear that being a strong man—to me—means protecting and caring for people around me, both physically and emotionally.
As uncles, we can be the most badass wrestlers, and we can also cuddle, love, and share our big hearts. While it’s true that dads can do this too, it’s important for kids to grow up knowing that lots of men—perhaps even most men—can be gentle, helpful, and trustworthy. This is also important for our nieces, by the way—if they aren’t familiar with many examples of loving, supportive men, how will they be able to identify and steer clear of the douchebags who won’t treat them well?
A lot of what I get out of uncling I also get as a teacher, a tutor, and an adult in the lives of my friends’ kids. Being an uncle has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the relationship you develop as a grown-ass adult with a little kid trying to figure out how to navigate this big world. If you are down for that mission, then congrats, you’re an uncle, and get ready to have one of the most fun, most important, and longest wrestling matches of your life.
