Happy Father’s Day!

The past few weeks have been a bit depressing especially since I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on the state of my marriage. I’d like this week to be separate before I go and do my chores (take out the trash, cook breakfast, sleep, and clean up).

Father’s Day hits different now. I used to treat it like one of those “nice to celebrate, but it doesn’t exactly punch you in the chest” kind of days.

But ever since I became a dad myself, man… it’s like someone turned up the volume on everything — the gratitude, the responsibility, the quiet moments, even the fears you don’t admit out loud.

Suddenly it’s not just a Hallmark holiday; it’s a mirror.

And when I look into it, I see my dad.

My Dad ABC

My father wasn’t the type to sit me down and deliver those dramatic, movie-level speeches about what it means to be a man or how to raise a family.

No big monologues.

No TED Talk moments.

He just lived it.

He handled what needed to be handled.

He was steady, calm, present — not perfect, but exactly the kind of man whose actions did all the talking.

And without realizing it, I was learning.

I was taking notes without meaning to. And when it was finally my turn? I didn’t have to guess.

I just followed the road he already walked on.

And honestly, that’s something I’m forever grateful for.

Because not everyone gets a father who teaches by example.

Some dads talk a lot but don’t live it.

Mine lived it quietly, and somehow those lessons stuck the loudest.

Then There’s My Younger Brother, Earl.

When he became a father before I did, it surprised me how much it affected me.

I didn’t expect it to, but watching him step into that role — watching fatherhood soften him, strengthen him, shift something in him — made me admire him more.

It’s wild how becoming a dad can flip a switch in a man, like suddenly the world looks different because someone tiny is depending on you to keep spinning.

Seeing that change in him made me want it, too.

It planted this small seed in me, like, “Hey, maybe this is the kind of life I want. Maybe this is something I could actually be good at.”

And it wasn’t jealousy; it was more of an inspiration — like witnessing a transformation up close.

I saw him grow, and I knew that when my time came, I wanted to grow like that too.

And Now I’ve Become a Dad Too.

Now that I’m here — in the thick of fatherhood, trying my best, messing up sometimes, learning every single day — Father’s Day feels like a checkpoint.

A moment to breathe and go, “Okay… this is who I’m becoming. This is who I’m trying to be.” And in those quiet pauses, I see the two men who shaped this journey for me: my father who showed me the path, and my brother who showed me what stepping into it looks like.

So yeah… Father’s Day isn’t just about celebrating dads. It’s about acknowledging the chain of men who taught me without ever preaching to me. It’s about honoring the legacy I’m trying to continue — hopefully with the same quiet strength my father had, and the same heart I saw in my brother.

And now that I’m a dad, I just hope I’m giving my child the same gift: a life where he doesn’t need speeches to understand what love looks like.

I hope he’ll just see it. Feel it. And maybe one day, Father’s Day will hit him differently too.

The Part I Don’t Usually Say Out Loud

There’s also this other layer to Father’s Day that I don’t really talk about — the part where I’m in a difficult marriage. It’s not something you just announce casually, like “Hey, by the way, things at home feel heavy.” But it’s there, and some days it sits on my chest a little too firmly.

And yet, even with all of that… I stay.

Not out of weakness.

Not out of fear.

I stay because of my son.

I know it’s kinda wrong because I should also be staying for my wife but it is what it is.

I can’t bear the thought of my son growing up confused, wondering why things fell apart.

I don’t want him to feel unloved or abandoned or to carry some silent belief that he wasn’t enough to keep his home together.

I need to keep reminding myself that kids internalize everything — even things we think they don’t see.

And the idea that he might grow up struggling to make sense of his place in the world because his foundation broke too early?

That thought alone keeps me grounded right here.

I also don’t want him believing that he’s destined for misery or chaos because he came from a broken home.

I’ve seen how that kind of pain echoes into adulthood. I’ve seen how it can shape people in ways they never asked for.

And if I can shield him from even a bit of that, if staying means he grows up with a sense of stability — then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to carry.

So I try.

I try my absolute best to keep things harmonious with his mom, even on days when I’m sad or drained or just tired of feeling like I’m giving more than I get.

I swallow some things.

I choose peace.

I bite my tongue more times than I’d like to admit.

Not because I’m pretending everything’s okay, but because fatherhood sometimes demands a quieter kind of strength.

And yeah… it hurts sometimes.

It’s lonely in ways I never expected.

But this is the price of fatherhood as I understand it — not martyrdom, not losing myself, but choosing the path that gives my son the best shot at a steady life. A life where he feels loved, secure, and whole.

Maybe one day he’ll understand.

Maybe he won’t.

But at least I’ll know I tried.

I stayed.

I did what I believed a father should do.

And I washed the dishes and cooked meals just to show him and his mom that I am still here loving them both unconditionally.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who chose to be dads.