How to Turn a Trip to Walmart Into an Adventure
Tuesday, August 25, 2026
My son wanted to go to Walmart. He wanted some gum.
Normally we would have jumped in the car, driven a few minutes, walked through the automatic doors, bought the gum, and driven home. Just another trip to Walmart.
But I had been working on a Pathfinder mission about handrails, and I thought:
Why not make this a mission?
In land navigation, a handrail is a long feature that helps guide you toward where you want to go. Could be A river, a ridgeline, a road, a power line. Anything you can follow to keep moving in the right direction.
So instead of driving, we grabbed our bikes and rode to a spot where we could see Walmart from above.
I pointed it out and gave him the objective:
Get us to Walmart using handrails.
He looked around and chose a power line. So we followed it. and for a while, it worked.
Then it ran out.
He looked around again and chose a street. We followed that one until it ran out too. That is where the mission got interesting because the plan stopped working. He wandered around a little and tried one street.
Dead end.
He turned around and tried another. Another dead end.
Then he stopped and looked around. Confused. I was sitting on my bike a few feet behind him, trying to keep my mouth shut.
I knew where Walmart was. I could have pointed him in the right direction. For a few minutes, I honestly thought I might have to step in.
But I also knew that if I told him where to go, it would cheapen the victory.
So I waited.
He looked around again and tried a third handrail.
A sidewalk running along a brick wall.
This one worked.
A few minutes later, we rolled into Walmart. He looked with the biggest smile, like it was Christmas.
I could see the pride in his face.
He didn't master navigation that day. He followed a power line, a street, and a sidewalk to Walmart and chose two dead ends along the way.
But when things did not go according to plan, he adapted and overcame.
He bought his gum, and we rode our bikes home.
That was the mission.
Nothing epic.
There wasn't a mountain to climb, a crazy survival situation and no helicopter rescue.
Just a trip to Walmart.
But I think fathers used to teach their sons a lot of things this way.
Whether it was fixing a fence, working on an engine, or sharpening a tool, the lesson was hidden inside the work.
I remember being about four years old when a little cupboard or TV stand in our house started to wobble and fall apart.
My dad let me "help him" fix it.
I had my tool belt and my tool chest.
I was ready.
Looking back, I know I did not do anything that really helped (In fact, I probably slowed the process down...)
My dad could have fixed it a lot faster without me. But fixing the TV stand was only part of what was happening.
What I gained from that moment was an identity:
I am the kind of person who finds another way.
My dad never sat me down and told me that. He gave me a place beside him while he lived it.
And then he handed me a tool.
I think as fathers we miss some of these opportunities
because we are waiting for the big moments.
The camping trip. The hunting trip. The perfect Saturday with all the right gear and enough time to make it count. and those moments matter.
But our sons are also being formed on the way to Walmart.
In the garage.
Cleaning up after dinner.
Walking the dog.
Fixing something that would be easier to replace.
The little moments do not look important while they are happening, which is probably why they are so easy to waste.
I could have driven my son to Walmart.
It would have been faster.
I could have told him which way to turn when he hit the first dead end.
That would have been easier.
Instead, I got to watch him become the kind of boy who looks around when the plan fails.
The kind who tries one way, then another, then another.
The kind who does not need Dad to rescue him the second he gets confused.
I gave him a small piece of evidence about who he is when his plan stops working. And that identity is more valuable than getting to Walmart without a wrong turn.
Three Ways to Turn an Ordinary Moment Into a Mission
You do not need to build a full mission or disappear into the mountains.
Start with something you were already going to do.
1. Give him a real objective
Do not give him a list of instructions.
Give him an outcome to own.
"Get us to Walmart using handrails."
"Figure out how to fix this wobble."
"Choose the trail that gets us back to the truck."
The objective needs to be clear, but the path should still belong to him.
2. Let the plan break
This can be the hardest part.
When you see the wrong turn coming, you will want to stop it. But if safety allows, wait.
Let him notice the dead end, feel confused, look around and then try something else.
Keep a smile on your face and notice the mission is not ruined when the plan fails. On the contrary, that's where the real mission starts.
3. Name what he did
When he gets through it, do not make the lesson about the perfect route or the fastest solution.
Tell him what you saw:
"You kept looking when the first way did not work."
"You tried three different routes until you found one."
"You adapted when your plan fell apart."
You are helping him connect the experience to his identity.
I am the kind of person who finds another way.
Think about how valuable this is. He always finds another way.
When big problems hit him later in life (and you can be sure they will), he will have that identity ingrained in his body, and he will overcome.
I mean, that's all we can ask for as parents.
That is a big reason why we built Pathfinder.
It is not really about outdoor skills for the sake of outdoor skills.
We want real missions where our boys have to notice, decide, try, fail, adjust, and keep moving.
The navigation matters.
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Other ways to connect with your son
1. Want the shortcut? Download the Free Field Guide for Raising Strong Sons — 7 hard-earned lessons every dad should know. No fluff. Just what works.
2. Run the FATHERHOOD SYSTEMS CHECK — A quick, 3-minute gut check to see if you’re leading your son… or just reacting to life.
3. Ready to go all in? Start the 3-Day Dad Challenge — This isn’t advice. It’s action. Three days. Three missions. See what kind of man your son is watching.
