TO THE DADS

I love my dad.
I used to see him every day.
Now? Not nearly as much.
Life gets in the way.

There were seasons we barely saw each other at all. Sometimes that was on me. Sometimes it was just life—distance, distractions, the grind.
And I’m lucky I still get to see him.

He was always there when I was growing up. Big. Strong. Unshakable. The kind of presence that made the world feel safe, even when it wasn’t. I thought he could do anything—because he could.

Through every season—early childhood through high school—he never missed a game. Not one. He was in the stands, on the sideline, in my ear.

And even when I thought I had it all figured out—faster, stronger, full of fire—Dad still had me beat. Not in muscle. In something deeper.

Wisdom.

He knew when to let me fall, and when to pull me up.
He knew when to say what I didn’t want to hear—but needed to.
He was calm when I was rattled.
Steady when I was reckless.
And more than anything—he showed up.

When something went wrong, I called him.
When something went right, I called him.
When I needed help—or didn’t even realize I did—
He was the first one I reached for.

And every time, he picked up.

That’s the thing about a good dad—
You don’t have to ask. He’s already there.

Then one day, I wasn’t just his son anymore—
I was holding my own child.

At first, I didn’t feel ready.
I’d look into my kid’s eyes and see someone who thought I had all the answers.
Who thought I was invincible.
A hero.
And the truth?
I was just doing my best.

But I showed up.

For the games.
The first bike ride.
The scrapes and bruises.
The heartbreak. The celebrations.
All of it.

And it’s true what they say—
it goes by fast.

Because now?

My oldest just started his first job.
A real one. First career step.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
And I get a front row seat.

I see the sharpness in him. The quiet strength.
He’s kinder than I was. Wiser, even.
People say they see me in him.

But I see more than that—someone worth looking up to.

I look in the mirror now and sometimes I see my dad.
And honestly? I’m okay with that.

Because when I see him these days—really see him—I see what time does.
How it humbles the body but sharpens the soul.
And I know one day, my son will look at me and see the same.

Time can be cruel like that.
But it also hands down the best parts of us—if we’re lucky.

So this Father’s Day—
Call your dad. If you’re lucky enough to still have him around, let him know.
Tell him you love him.

And if you’re a dad yourself—keep showing up.
Be the calm in the storm. The voice of reason.
The one they can call—because they know you’ll pick up.

Be proud.

Because when your son walks out the door and heads back into his life,
and you’re standing there, just watching—

You smile.

Because you remember—not long ago, you were the one walking out.

You feel it settle in.
He’s just like me.
My boy—he’s just like me.