Broviding in the Presidio

Rating: Role Player

I remember when our toddler was barely steady on his feet, wobbling from couch to coffee table like a pint-sized tightrope walker. Now, he’s scaling playground equipment and charging across open fields like he’s training for his own action movie.

One Saturday afternoon, while our daughter was at a birthday party, we had a choice: head home and zone out, or lean into the gift of unexpected time. We chose the latter. With our little guy strapped into the car seat, we set our sights on the Presidio.

The first stop was Pershing Square. He spotted the cannons before I did, and within seconds he was climbing them like they were put there just for him. Cannonballs became balance beams. Oversized red chairs became launch pads. I stood back, watching him test his limits, and thought about how much courage it takes to be a toddler—constantly stumbling, getting up, trying again.

From there, we wandered to Tunnel Tops, where the real adventure unfolded. The horse swing was calling, and of course he claimed the front seat, leaning back with a grin that said, I own this. Other parents hovered, ready to coach their kids into taking turns. We just let him go until he was satisfied. Sometimes the best parenting move is simply letting your kid have their moment.

The fallen tree was next, and with a roar he declared it his fortress. Moments later he was elbow-deep in the sand and water play zone. That’s where I noticed another dad—a fellow brovider—decked out in a shirt that read, “If lifting was easy, it would be called your mom.” He was on his knees in the sand, fully engaged with his son, not scrolling on his phone. It made me smile. You can tell when a dad is in it for real.

By the time we wrapped up, our toddler was flushed and sweaty, the kind of tired that only comes from hours of all-in play. We headed to Il Parco for dinner, where he surprised us all by devouring an Upside Down Sicilian Pizza—homemade mozzarella, Bianco DiNapoli tomatoes, Sicilian oregano. Bite after bite, he ate like it was fuel for his next great adventure.

Minutes after the meal, back in the car, he crashed hard. The kind of nap that says: day well spent.

Driving home, I thought about how easy it would have been to skip the outing—to scroll, to clean, to catch up on chores. But these are the afternoons that matter. My daughter was off making memories at a birthday party. My son made his own out in the Presidio. And I got to be there for it, not just watching, but living it alongside him.

Money comes and goes. Work is never finished. But time—time is what makes you rich or leaves you bankrupt.

So the question is: when the unexpected window opens, what will you do with it?