It started with a yes.
Just a simple one.
“Sure, I’ll help in the canteen.”
That’s all it took for the rest of the week to unravel.
I’m not blaming anyone—least of all my wife. But if you’ve ever tried navigating a Saturday morning with a big family, one injured teenager in a congress suit, GPS chaos, and a half-read email, you’ll know: there are no simple yeses. Only well-camouflaged no’s.
Let me take you to the fork in the road. Literally. The kind where you don’t just choose a direction—you unknowingly choose the ripple effect that follows.
The Ripple Effect of One Yes
My wife said yes to volunteer at our son Maarten’s soccer club.
Her email said the shift was from 8 to 11. But her phone, in a design move clearly optimized for comedy, bolded only the “11.” So she thought it started at 11. Which, last time, it didn’t. And this time, it didn’t either.
This time, on a morning when our youngest daughter Nadia had a playdate in Delft. With four classmates. At an indoor playground. I was on duty. My wife was on redemption.
When she asked for the address of the soccer club, I offered to send the GPS pin.
Because if you’ve ever navigated Dutch suburbia, you’ll know sending someone the address is like handing them a Rubik’s Cube with no colors. Roundabouts, dead ends, one-way detours. But she insisted: “Just send me the address. I’ll figure it out. I’ll bike.”
You already know how this ends.
At 10:45, I’m chatting with other dads in the indoor playground, half a coffee deep into our mutual weekend fatigue, when the phone rings.
I look at the screen. My heart already knows who it is before my eyes confirm it. It says “My Love.”
Of course it does.
“You didn’t tell me it’s one hour by bike!” she says.
I try to explain. I really do. But this isn’t the time for nuance. I excuse myself, hop in the car, and drive home. At 11:03, she’s ready—bike secured, doors locked. We head out into a GPS-induced maze of roadblocks. Turns out the one-hour estimate wasn’t far off.
And yet—we make it. Just late. I walk her in. Not because she needs me to. But because I want the vibe to be clear. In a mostly white club, there are subtle undercurrents when a Black woman shows up late. I want to neutralize any unspoken judgments. And to their credit, the folks there were gracious:
“We’re just happy she’s here.”
What Was Gained?
Still, it made me think.
This wasn’t just a story about missed timeslots and detours.
It was about emotional bandwidth. Family logistics. The cost of well-meant yeses.
Because here’s the non-kicker: Maarten wasn’t even playing today. He was suited up in one of my ties for his mock youth congress, which—despite being clearly a school project—they take very seriously. He looked great, by the way.
So, what was the gain?
Maybe my wife’s yes to the club was a deeper yes—to community, to visibility, to our son’s identity. Even if he wasn’t on the field.
Maybe my yes was hidden in the background—driving, chatting with dads, holding space for our daughter.
Maybe neither of us got the outcome we hoped for. But maybe that’s not the point.
Because every yes costs something.
And in families, we pay in advance.
Check and know what you’re saying no to.
And remember:
One small yes is never alone.
It brings with it a parade of silent no’s, marching quietly behind.
Choose your parade wisely.
What's on your mind?