I spent a portion of the weekend watching Mr. Mom. I’m convinced the movie is on a list of films cable TV plugs in when schedules need to fill a cinematic hole. I’ve watched Michael Keaton play Mr. Mom more times than I’ve seen him dress up as the dark Cape Crusader. But this experience affected me differently.

This time I tuned in more to the movie’s message about difficult, economic times. I connected to the father who, to the theme music of Rocky, eventually approached raising kids and running a home with the same strategic tenacity as he approached his job as a car engineer.

I once dreamed of appearing on television as a network correspondent. I imagined myself based in a sophisticated city living off laptops and hotel rooms, occasionally looking at life through the window. But during my last few years as a TV reporter, I began to realize the number of times I missed a family moment while I covered a story (or sat in a meeting) that provided little passion for me. Something struck me. No matter how good I was or how good I got at my career, the achievement would bring minor fame and respect from colleagues. Then they would move onto the rest of their lives.

Even the most renowned members of our industries gain brief notoriety and if they really hit it big, might be remembered by pop culture or by insiders who appreciate the nuances of their field of interest. Woodward and Bernstein are legends, but I don’t daydream about them on a regular basis or find serenity by contemplating their achievements. My path in local news was not about to disrupt government corruption at the highest levels and leaping to a network would ensure I would miss years of family time. I might travel the world and meet leaders as a network journalist, but in the end, I would be a legend in my own mind.

My true legacy will live on only with family. They learn from me. I learn from them. Like many men if not most, I once feared earning the lesser of two salaries. I once feared not meeting manly standards. But after years of conference room meetings, covering big stories, being recognized and watching office politics swirl around me, I was done with that scenario. I proved I can survive and excel in that environment and it bored and frustrated me.

A friend told me, even if financially feasible, he could not stay home with the kids. He wasn’t built for that. I laughed inside. That’s all I wanted. My work achievements quickly paled in comparison to teaching children values and being beside them for the simple things in life. While I build my new business under my rules and by my time, my schedule is flexible for family. I’m probably more passionate about work than in years because I found the balance I desperately sought. I don’t need a rush hour drive, a desk, daily meetings and live shots to define who I am. What’s more manly (or perhaps crazy) than turning down a regular two-week paycheck to blaze your own trail?

While building The Flip Side, I might also turn into a mom taxi or start cooking some dinners. I might take pride in an organized house with the same zeal I take pride in writing a perfect script. I’ve already learned the challenge of a corporate job and maintaining a household are equally daunting. Mr. Mom eventually shaved his beard, dumped the old T-shirt, stopped feeling sorry for himself and learned building a family was as or more important than building a car. If being manly is succeeding at a good job with a good salary, then I earned my man card long ago and played the role of stud. And if sometimes playing dad, Mr. Mom and business owner aren’t enough to meet society’s and my own expectations of being a man, I’ll go cut down some trees, change a high up light bulb or drive around the family taxi while wearing my Miami Dolphins cap and rubbing the stubble covering my face. Instead of building a false legacy, I’ll be manly my way. Just don’t ask me to buy a mini-van.