To All the Dads, I See You
Just Showing Up is a Major Part of the Job
Father’s Day is one of those days where everything gets loud and quiet at the same time. Loud with photos of dads and grill smoke. Quiet with memories. With what-ifs. With the things you still wish you could say.
My dad has been gone six years now. And every year, I feel the weight of that a little differently. But one feeling has stuck with me since he passed—this mix of gratitude and fear.
See, I had one of the greats. A dad who didn’t just love us, he showed up. Always. Steady, kind, consistent. He was the guy who could fix anything—cars, broken hearts, bad days—with the same calm, thoughtful presence. He made fatherhood look like art.
And when I became a dad—first to Cora, then to John—he was there. Watching, guiding, laughing at my diaper disasters, and offering help in his way: quietly, supportively, without ever making me feel like I was doing it wrong.
He saw me step into fatherhood and gave me the confidence to keep stepping, even when I wasn’t sure of the ground.
But then came Ellis. And Dad wasn’t there.
And that’s when the fear really hit.
Because it was one thing to be a dad with your dad in the picture. It was another to try doing it without him.
No one to call at any hour of the day. The man was accessible, even if he never owned a cell phone. I miss his words of encouragement and ability to listen as I vented. You’d think after 2, I’d have confidence - heck even swagger. But, I didn’t. And without his steady voice offering reassurance, I was so unsure.
That’s when the fear creeps in—the fear that I won’t live up to the example he set. That I’ll miss something important. That I won’t be enough.
But over time, I’ve realized something: I don’t have to be my dad to be a good dad.
I just have to love like he did.
Show up. Apologize when I mess up. Hug tight. Be present. Stay curious. Keep trying.
I know he’d be proud of the father I am—not because I’m perfect (he knew me too well for that), but because I’m trying. Every single day.
And if my kids grow up knowing they were seen, supported, and loved—if they feel even a fraction of what I felt growing up with him—then I’ll know I’ve done something right.
So this Father’s Day, I’m thinking of the man who taught me how to be one. Who saw me take my first steps as a dad, even if he didn’t get to see the whole journey.
I miss you, Dad. I hope I’m doing you proud.
(And yes, Ellis finally sleeps through the night. Most of the time.)