What We Carry: A Father's Heart on Memorial Day

This weekend hits differently. It's Memorial Day and my Mother's birthday; she is a woman who didn't just raise me but trained me and my siblings in grit, fighting, and unshakable resilience. She's a retired Army nurse; you see, I have been told that "tough moms don't ever fold" (what that famous photo "Rosie the riveter, that's how I view my mom...tough"), and she lived that motto every day. My mom didn't give lectures; she gave lessons about her life. She grew up one of 13 siblings, so being tough wasn't optional; it was necessary. The stories from her childhood? Man, you could sit back for hours and laugh, shake your head, and admire the strength it took to rise from that chaos and poverty.

Driving through the neighborhood, I noticed the American flags waving proudly from every other house, standing tall like silent reminders. Just as I pulled up to our place, my son came sprinting from across the street towards the car, arms open, smiling wide, yelling, "Daddy!" like I was the best part of his day. At that moment, I felt it in my chest, and it was pride.

Pride in being my Mother's son.

Pride in being a fully present dad.

Pride in being an American.

Like most folks, I've done my fair share of cookouts, some road trips, and long weekend errands over the years. But something about this year felt heavier. Maybe because this year I truly felt battle-tested, from almost being out of here to having health concerns, loved ones' passing, a shift in family dynamics, and more. These are some battles I've been quietly fighting. It could be because fatherhood has had me view holidays differently.

Memorial Day isn't just about the fallen. It's about what they fell for. It's about what we carry on in their absence. And as a father, I feel that in my soul.

The Soldier and the Father

You see, both soldiers and fathers sign up for something bigger than themselves.

One wears dog tags, the other might wear a Christmas cardigan in May and proudly carry his daughter's pink backpack to the bus stop, but both show up. Both sacrifice. Both fight battles no one sees.

The difference? One fights overseas. The other fights to stay emotionally present when he's mentally drained.

One carries a rifle. The other carries the emotional weight of wondering if he's doing right by his children if he is enough for them, and if he can hold it all together.

And many men carry both.

To the Dads Who Served

If you're a veteran and a father, I hope you hear me when I say this: Thank you.

Not just for the uniform you wore but for the battles you still fight when the uniform comes off.

For waking up every day and continuing to serve your children, even while carrying memories that don't always let you sleep.

You've endured things most people will never understand, and still, you show up for baseball games( this is how I met my good buddies Jeff and Ryan), school drop-offs, and late-night talks about monsters under the bed or in the closet.

To the dads who lost brothers in combat and came home to raise sons & daughters they hope will never know the sound of war, you are seen.

To the men whose discipline was forged in the fire of boot camp but who now find their strength in patience, add a little more patience and the little fingers tangled in yours; you are honored.

You see, like service, fatherhood is a daily act of courage.

Sure, there are no parades for emotional presence and zero medals for steady love.

But make no mistake, dads, what you do is heroic.

And to every dad who walks both roads, the one of soldier and the one of father, you are the kind of legacy this country should salute every day.

The Invisible Fight

There's this quiet battlefield nobody talks about, where dads fight invisible wars every day, managing anxiety while at the kid's school musical, swallowing tears while reading them books before bed, balancing discipline with love when they're exhausted, and parenting with purpose despite past pain.

They send "I love you" texts when court orders keep them apart, take the high road in tense co-parenting moments, and help raise children who may not share their blood but call them "Dad" all the same. They work two jobs while shelving their dreams, grinding through exhaustion without complaint, and questioning if their worth ends where their paycheck does.

These dads wrestle with lost identities, diminishing hobbies, and the pressure always to provide, all while fielding side-eyes for being too soft or too involved. In love, they fight to stay open after betrayal, give without receiving, and carry other's needs even when their own needs go unmet. These are the battles no one applauds, and yet, there you are, Fighting.

Fighting back tears during drop-offs and cheering like crazy at soccer games, school plays, or gymnastic tryouts.

Fighting to tell bedtime stories, even when the day has worn them out.

Fighting for family dinners, not because they're convenient, but because they're grounding.

Fighting for apologies, not out of weakness, but to teach that vulnerability equates to strength.

These dads fight to be fully present, not perfect.

Some dads will be grieving this weekend.

Grieving their brothers in arms who didn't make it home.

Grieving relationships that couldn't survive the weight carried.

Grieving the version of themselves they had to sacrifice for survival.

Some of us are trying to find joy in the small wins.

It is as simple as your child saying, "You're the best dad." It's those moments that keep us in the fight.

Legacy passed down

What We Pass On

Our kids don't know all the details. And they don't need to.

 But they will know how we loved them, stayed, and got up even when we felt utterly useless.

That's the legacy.

Memorial Day is about honoring the fallen. But it's also about choosing to live with intention for those who can't anymore. And for the little ones who are watching.

So, Dads

If today feels heavy, that's okay.

If it feels like you're the only one carrying this emotional, financial, and spiritual madness, you're not alone.

Some heroes wear uniforms. Others wear shirts that say "Proud Dad since......"

You may not get a folded flag. But you get something just as meaningful:

A legacy of presence. Of protection. Of love.

So, this Memorial Day, light a candle. Say a name. Share a story. And hug your kids a little longer. That's how we honor the past and build the future.