Project-Based Bonding: How Rebuilding a Mini Cooper Rebuilt My Relationship With My Son

A few weeks ago my 16-year-old son taught me how to use a micrometer, measuring engine bores to thousandths of an inch, when I realized our relationship was transforming. 18 months ago, our conversations rarely went beyond logistics and homework. Now we are collaborating as equals on rebuilding a 1969 Mini Cooper, and in the process, we’ve rebuilt our connection.

The Challenge of Parenting Older Kids

With my kids getting older and more independent, it has been more challenging to maintain a relationship with them. Being a parent sits in a strange place. I recognize what I needed as a kid and what my parents couldn't provide, so I try to provide that. There's a strong pull toward the approach of parent as friend. I know from experience that this approach makes discipline and behavior correction significantly more challenging.

Because I value independence, I had erred on a more hands-off approach. This might be a father's stereotype. I likely would have continued down this road had it not been for a project that pulled me in a completely different direction. I call it project-based bonding, and it has allowed my son and me to connect and build a deeper relationship than I expected.

Learning to Fail and Repair

I hate giving parenting advice because the variables are too vast for me to have any authority, and I'm not interested in conducting research to find the statistically best approach. I'm living as a parent every day with a very short time frame in which to work and build something meaningful with my kids. I need to make the most of it now, which means being agile and willing to experiment. And a willingness to fail.

The fear of failure, especially with kids, is stronger than I care to admit and has prevented me from having necessary conversations or taking action. I freeze and hope it will just go away. It never does, and then I get stuck with a compounded problem.

A few years ago, my wife and I came across a concept called "repair work." It's saved not only our relationship but our relationships with our kids. The idea is that after a blowup that hurts the relationship, you spend time repairing it. You come back together after things have cooled down to listen and talk. This creates space to process the heat of the moment and the emotions, then rebuild connection. This practice emphasizes the relationship rather than the conflict.

Here's how it worked with our Mini project: When we accidentally stripped a bolt head and I snapped at him for not being careful enough, we used repair work. Later that evening, I apologized for my reaction and we talked through the frustration we both felt. Instead of creating distance, working through it actually brought us closer.

The Mini Cooper Story

In high school, my dad was stationed in England, and I spent my last year there overseas. This was both an amazing experience and ridiculously hard. While we were there, my dad and I got into Minis, the tiny British car that became an institution and saw a resurgence in the early 2000s when BMW bought the brand and relaunched it.

When it comes to Minis, I'm a purist.

Minis became something we worked on together. My dad ended up buying three, and when it came time to leave, he brought one back with him: a 1969 Mini Cooper S.

​While we did drive it in England, it hasn't been driven since. It became a project both my dad and I had the best intentions for. Like many old car projects, it continually took the back seat. Life became busy and it continued to sit untouched, in pieces.

The Decision to Rebuild

Two years ago, my wife and I started having conversations about the Mini because our son had developed an interest in cars, especially European cars. We went back and forth about what it would be like to bring the car home and what it would take to get it back up and running. It's the kind of project that if I was going to take on, I knew I was taking it on completely. After coming to terms with that and being willing to lead the effort to put the old bird back together, I committed.

My dad was thrilled to get the space back in his garage, and my mom was happy it stayed in the family.

Right after making the commitment and starting the process of bringing the car to the Pacific Northwest, I reconnected with Kerry, my youth leader from high school in England. He ran into my parents, which brought up that we had just picked up the Mini and were beginning to work on it.

In a catch-up email, he commented about the Mini, saying, "What a great bonding experience for you and your son."

This surprised me because it wasn't my intention for it to be a bonding experience. My approach was that I thought he would enjoy taking part in putting it back together. I think this is where my hands-off approach was kicking in. Kerry's comment shifted my perspective and made me more open to having the project be something more than just deepening my son’s interest cars.

Everything I Assumed Was Wrong

The way this project has unfolded is so different from what I anticipated. This reflects both the circumstances of our time and who my son is.

I approached the Mini the way I had approached it in high school. I knew nothing, my dad knew slightly more, and we were dependent on someone else to make up the difference.

In getting the Mini, I took on the role of ‘dad’, assuming authority and that I’d be teaching my son how to get this project done.

My assumptions were wrong. It turns out my son's interest in cars far exceed my knowledge. He has a working knowledge of combustion engines, and Minis have about as basic an engine as it gets.

Thanks to the internet, we have access to expertise that wasn't available when I was in high school.

I assumed that my authority put enormous pressure on me to learn everything before passing it off to him.

A big reason why this project has been so successful is that all those assumptions were blown out of the water.

From the start, it was clear he knew more than me. I had to quickly change my perspective and listen to him. I had to allow myself to be open to the idea that a 16-year-old could teach me something.

Part of his knowledge stemmed from his interest in cars and having a group of friends who were also interested in cars. They would talk engines and performance. The other part came from the internet, the biggest difference from when my dad and I worked on Minis. For us to access any knowledge about Minis circa 2001, we had to know someone or have the right books. Even then, sometimes books aren't the best resource.

Now I'm not just figuring out how to put a Mini back together. I'm learning how small engines work, understanding why mechanical engineers made specific design decisions, and discovering how slight adjustments can make a significant difference.

The Real Learning Began

What I think has made this project pave the way for bonding at this point in my son's and my relationship is that it accurately reflects the transition our relationship is going through.

The older he gets, the more independent he becomes, and the more different my role as his dad becomes. It's been surprisingly fun for me to approach this project with him as a peer, not as a parent.

When we talk about the Mini, our conversation is collaborative. He has valid thoughts about how to approach things or what to focus on.

Just as the school year was getting out, we pulled the pistons out and needed to measure the bores so we knew which size piston rings to order. We ended up borrowing a set of snap gauges and micrometers, neither of which I had ever used.

When you measure parts of an engine, everything is measured in thousandths. This ensures a high degree of accuracy and precision. Listening to a machinist talk is like dropping into any jargon-filled industry conversation. I had a vague idea of what was going on but couldn't share that information or take action with it.

He showed me how the tools worked, and I assisted him in measuring the bores. It was humbling to have him show me the ropes.

My contributions to the project are very different from what I expected. Instead of teaching him about the car, I'm providing perspective on project management, budgeting, and tool and shop management. Things that took me a lot of trial and error to learn and make a project like this more bearable.

For example, I help him think through which parts to order first based on lead times, how to organize our workspace so we don't lose small parts, and how to budget for unexpected expenses (everything is an unexpected expense).

The Deeper Connection

Having a long-term project for us to work on also means we have a reason to check in and talk. It's almost every day that we're discussing when new parts are arriving, what the next task is, sharing a new video, or talking about upcoming Mini events.

While these daily check-ins are great for keeping the conversation going, what they've allowed is for us to open up about more complicated life topics. The conversation about Minis is the small talk that makes it feel safe to dive a little deeper. Our time together has opened up avenues to discuss college, social life, self-esteem, goals and habits, relationships, disappointment, frustration, internet safety, money, investment, retirement, language, and many other things.

We went from two or three meaningful conversations per month to daily check-ins. He started asking my advice on non-car topics. I learned to say "I don't know, what do you think?" instead of pretending to have all the answers.

I still have to stand my ground on a few things and be the parent, but it has been incredibly rewarding to see and take part in his growth and maturity. Letting go and allowing him to become himself is an exercise in patience and love, helping me have greater respect for my own parents.

What Makes Project-Based Bonding Work

Not every attempt at connection worked. My earlier efforts to bond over hiking backfired when I turned them into lectures about perseverance. The difference with the Mini was that I couldn't lecture, I genuinely needed his help.

Here's what I've learned makes project-based bonding effective:

• It must require genuine collaboration. This isn't about the parent teaching the child. Both people need to bring something valuable to the table.
• It should leverage the child's existing interests or expertise. Don't pick something only you care about.
• It needs regular touchpoints but a flexible timeline. Daily check-ins work, but there's no pressure to finish by a certain date.
• It should have tangible progress markers. Being able to point to what you accomplished together builds momentum, especially with something physical.
• You have to be genuinely curious about their expertise. Kids can tell when you're patronizing them.

The Reality Check

Taking on an old car project isn't for everyone. It's way more expensive than I thought. I justify the money as an investment in the relationship, not just in the car. It takes up significant space, which is only possible because a Mini fits just about perfectly in the leftover garage space we had. A project like this requires more project management skills and emotional investment than I realized.

This approach also requires acknowledging that you might not be the expert, which can be uncomfortable. And it assumes you have disposable income, space, and time that many families don't have.

If car restoration isn't your thing, the same principles apply to other collaborative projects: coding a website together, learning a musical instrument, cooking through a challenging cookbook, building furniture, starting a garden, or even planning family trips where the teenager takes the lead on research.

The key is finding something where:

• Your teenager knows more than you do about at least one aspect
• You can contribute complementary skills
• There are regular opportunities to problem-solve together
• The project has meaning for both of you

What This Has Taught Me

At the end of the day, having this project has been the perfect way to transition my relationship with my son. If you can find something like this for you and your kids, I can't recommend it enough.

The most surprising lesson has been that some of the best bonding happens during problem-solving, not during success. When we're both scratching our heads over how to put things back together, we're truly collaborating. When we finally figure it out together, the victory belongs to both of us.

This experience has fundamentally changed how I think about parenting teenagers. Instead of trying to remain the authority on everything, I'm learning to become a collaborative partner in their learning and growth. It's messier and more unpredictable than the traditional parent-child dynamic, but it's also more honest and, ultimately, more rewarding.

The Mini still isn't running, we're probably 18 months away from that. But the relationship we've built while working on it is running better.