Happy Father’s Day to the Ones Who Actually Show Up

Welcome back to another installment of Stories from Tina. Grab a seat. I’ve currently got my lifeline in hand—a Philz iced Tesora with heavy cream and sugar—and I’m ready to get into it. You all know music is my primary language, so before you keep reading, imagine a fittingly soulful, real-talk track playing in the background to set the vibe. My little white Shih Tzu, Daisy, is currently curled up at my feet completely oblivious to the world, which is exactly the kind of peace I’m trying to channel today.

Today is Father’s Day. If you scroll through social media right now, you’re going to see the standard highlight reels, the matching shirts, the grill smoke, and generic greetings. You’re also going to see at least one man who hasn’t bought a pack of socks since 2019 suddenly expecting a full parade. But as a 33-year-old Leo, you know I’m not here to sugarcoat reality; I’m here for authenticity, boundaries, and a little bit of a reality check. We have watered down the word “father” so much that some people think biology is the whole résumé.

Let’s talk about what actually makes a father. I was scrolling through my feed this morning and saw a quote that perfectly nailed the vibe I’m on today. It read: “Happy Father’s Day to all the men that actually take care of their kids & an even bigger happy Father’s Day to the men that step up for kids that ain’t theirs. It don’t take blood to make you a dad, it takes love.”

Listen, gentlemen. Biology is basically just a science experiment. Being a father? That’s a verb. It’s an active, daily, relentless choice. Anybody can have a child; that part doesn’t require a committee meeting, a background check, or even common sense. But raising a child is a completely different assignment. I am talking about the men who are actually fathering. The ones who know their child’s shoe size without calling the mother first. The ones who know the teacher’s name, the allergies, the bedtime routine, and the exact difference between “I’m fine” and “I’m about to cry but I don’t want to say it.”

Parenting is not a pop-up shop. You cannot clock in once every six months, take a picture at Chuck E. Cheese, buy a Happy Meal, and act like you just completed a presidential term. Children are not seasonal decorations or tax-time reminders. They are human beings. They remember, they feel, they notice, and eventually, they understand. We all know how exhausting the daily grind can be. Between managing endless household schedules, figuring out what’s for dinner for the thousandth time, and just trying to keep growing humans emotionally and physically thriving, life demands everything we have. A real father doesn’t look at the chaos of daily life and check out; he wades right into the middle of it.

Let’s say it louder for the people in the back: Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there, but you’re not really a father unless you’re actually taking care of all your kids that you actively have on this earth.

All of them.

Not just the ones whose mother you still like. Not just the ones who live in the house with you. Not just the child with the mother who doesn’t require accountability. If you have multiple children, fatherhood does not allow you to pick a favorite family like you are choosing toppings at Subway.

I’m so incredibly tired of the “she won’t let me see them” excuse when we all know family courts exist. Or the “I’ll be there when they’re older and can understand” cop-out. Newsflash: by the time they are older, they will understand exactly who was absent and who chose their own comfort over their child’s well-being.

I know a thing or two about the realities of these dynamics and how painful it can be. My son Noah’s biological father wouldn’t even claim him. To this day, he denies, refuses, and neglects his son, as well as all of his other children—except for two of his daughters. That is not fatherhood. You do not get to say, “I take care of my kids,” while others are growing up wondering why they got the clearance-rack version of you. A child should never be punished because two adults could not make a relationship work. Adults create the mess; adults need to clean it up.

Because blood might make you related, but love makes you family. DNA does not wipe tears. DNA does not sit in traffic to pick a child up from practice. DNA does not help with homework while pretending to understand new math (and let’s pause right there, because new math is proof that the education system woke up one day and chose violence).

There’s a beautifully written message circulating online today that perfectly captures the whole messy, beautiful spectrum of this holiday. It sends love to everyone: the single dads, the stepdads, the adoptive and foster dads, the ones navigating loss, and those with complicated relationships with their own fathers. It acknowledges that today isn’t just a Hallmark card for everyone. But my absolute favorite part of that message is how it ends: “…and everyone who shows up with love like a dad.”

Showing up. That’s the magic phrase.

I want to give a massive, standing ovation to the men who don’t share DNA with the children they love, but who step into a role they weren’t obligated to fill. Imagine looking at a child and saying, “I don’t have to do this, but I’m going to.”

Happy Father’s Day to my kids’ dad, Nonso, who is raising both our kids. When Noah’s biological father walked away, Nonso stepped up in ways that are unimaginable. He adopted my son as his own. He has been raising and doing everything for both Noah and Maureen. From taking them to school and sports events to just being their rock, this man has a good heart and means well. He didn’t just step in when things were easy; he stepped in during the messy transitions and the moments where my kids needed a steady hand. My kids love him so much and appreciate everything he does for them. He is the ultimate proof that the man who shares your life becomes the one who truly earns the title.

Now let me sprinkle in a little humor because y’all know I can’t stay serious forever. Some dads act like watching their own children is babysitting. Sir. Those are your kids. Nobody gives moms a standing ovation because they spent time with their own children. Imagine me calling my husband and saying: “Can you come watch your kids while I go to Target?” The way I’d get laughed right off the phone! Yet some men think they deserve a Nobel Peace Prize because they spent two hours with their own child without calling for backup. Or they announce, “I’m watching the kids today so my wife can have a break.” Being present with your own offspring isn’t a favor, it’s the job description. Please be serious.

But let’s also acknowledge that being a good father isn’t about being perfect. Kids will test you. They will literally look you in the eyes, wearing the shoes you worked overtime to buy, and act like you are ruining their life because you asked them to pick up a single sock. They will ask for snacks immediately after refusing the dinner you just cooked from scratch. They will tell you at 8:47 p.m. on a Sunday that they need a trifold poster board for a project due tomorrow morning. They will say, “You don’t understand,” while eating food you paid for and using Wi-Fi you keep alive like a utility bill hostage situation. Parenting is an extreme sport.

Good fathers keep trying anyway. Good fathers apologize when they lose their cool. Good fathers don’t disappear when parenting gets uncomfortable or boring.

So today, I want to send love to the whole emotional group chat that is Father’s Day. To the single dads packing lunches and doing hair, learning how to be emotionally available—you are seen. To the grandpas and uncles standing in the gap—thank you. To the people missing their dads, grieving, or navigating complicated relationships where you don’t know whether to send a text or just go eat something with cheese and pretend feelings aren’t real—I hope today is gentle with you.

But mostly, to the real ones out there. The men who quietly love their children every day. The men who stay. The ones who provide, step up, wipe tears, and actively raise ALL the humans they brought into (or welcomed into) this world. Your children may not fully understand your invisible labor right now, but one day they will realize who stayed. Who called. Who fought for them. Who actively chose them, every single day.

Happy Father’s Day.

Keep it real,

-Tina

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Wholeness Didn’t Require Sameness

When I was pregnant with twins, I upended my life in many ways. Small adjustments included moving the living room furniture. More significant decisions included giving my life to God.

I was going to do a 180° turn away from the confusing dysfunction of my childhood and ensure my children would live full, joyful, secure lives.

Emerging from a tumultuous background, brokenness, and all that, I was always missing sameness in my youth.

I wished all the people in my life shared the same last name like generations of other families. I wished for same relatives and holidays with the same people. I heard schoolmates talk about longstanding traditions. Loving grandpas and attentive grandmas who hosted the same family dinner every Sunday.

So, I set out to give my children sameness. Traditions. I sought to surround them with good adults and friends.

Turns out, I quickly learned the lesson all new Moms get bonked on their head with: we cannot control everything. Particularly people.

Former acquaintances and some blood relatives in my children’s baby books have faded away. Some by different life directions. Others by my intentional choice.

Focusing on giving my children a secure environment meant the same people around had to be good ones. The kind that actually invest their time, their eyes, their interest. I decided even the pediatrician would be one we traveled with until they all went to university.

Absurd, I know. By the time my twins were 2 1/2 and I was holding a newborn infant, the insurance dictated we in fact would not have the same pediatrician. Employers change insurance and Moms and Dads change employers.

I recall being genuinely upset about saying goodbye to the pediatric practice where they all knew our names. Like the old TV show Cheers, there is comfort and warmth when entering a friend’s house, church or even a physician office where people use your name and express care about your life.

When I was 33, I thought we’d live in our new-built home until I welcomed grandchildren. I imagined growing a garden and adding a front porch. Hating the subdivision life, we eventually moved out of the cookie-cutter Stepford nation, and into the country with an already-built giant porch.

Turns out, we would again move sixteen years later – not to North Carolina or Florida where we boasted for years we would land – but to Texas.

Doctors. People. Houses. And a host of other not-sameness.

The kids turn pages in the family photo albums, asking who a few people are at their early-life birthday parties. Some I wonder if I should have held tighter. Most were only meant to be in our lives for a season.

And that’s natural. Some would argue a person’s temporary status in our life story is ordained to be exactly that: there for a chapter, not the entire book.

I was a loving, eager-to-do-right Mama who now as an empty-nester understands that my young commitment to sameness wasn’t the key to giving my children happiness.

Their Mama was determined (if not desperate) to make home an anchor. To grow firm roots of confidence beneath them. To establish absolute security so they could focus on playing, dreaming and having a childhood before adulting knocked on the door.

Though we all have the same last name and enjoy annual traditions, I’ve come to understand that my children never needed same-everything to flourish. It wasn’t the same home, healthcare practice or even same familiar faces that turned them into grounded, loving humans.

We didn’t need everyone to know our names to belong somewhere or everywhere.

My children’s stability and sense of worth were shaped by loyalty and consistency – by learning respect of others, beginning with their siblings – and the unwavering presence of parents who showed up. Who loved them unconditionally and wholeheartedly.

Thank you for sharing your time with me today. I hope you had a lovely Memorial Day and I wish you a wonderful week ahead.

Featured photo: mine, family5power.

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What Kind of Father Will You Be Remembered As?

At some point every father asks himself a version of the same question. Not out loud usually. Just in a quiet moment, maybe late at night when the house has gone still and everyone else is asleep.

Am I doing this right?

I have asked myself that more times than I can count. The honest answer has not always been yes. There were stretches where I was physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely. Providing without connecting. Going through the motions without any real intention behind them. Showing up in body but clocking out in spirit.

A poem I wrote recently keeps pulling me back. It starts at the end. The clock has wound down. The minutes have run out. And the only thing left is what the people you loved most actually carry with them once you are gone. Not what you gave them. What you were to them.

That is a different question. And it deserves an honest answer.

What Will They Actually Say About You

When you are no longer here, your kids are not going to stand around talking about the school fees you paid or the holidays you funded. Those things matter in practical terms but they are not what gets remembered at the emotional level.

They will talk about who you were. How you treated their mother when you thought no one was watching. The way you handled pressure and whether it made them feel safe or anxious. Whether you were honest with them even when honesty was uncomfortable. Whether they ever felt like a priority or an afterthought.

Whether they knew without a doubt that they were loved.

That question has a way of cutting through all the noise. Every excuse, every justification, every story you tell yourself about being a decent father. It strips all of that back and leaves something simple and unavoidable.

The Father They Carry Into Adulthood

Kids do not remember the things you bought them with anywhere near the clarity of the moments you gave them your full attention. They remember the Saturday morning you sat down and actually listened without glancing at your phone. The time you showed up to something that mattered to them even when you were tired. The conversation where you admitted you got something wrong.

They also remember the gaps. The emotional distance. The distraction that was always there even when you were technically in the room. The absence that nobody names out loud but everyone in the family knows is real.

How a father shows up shapes how his kids love, handle conflict, and see themselves. That is not pressure. It is just the truth. The father you are becomes part of who they are.

The Story You Are Writing Right Now

Here is what I keep coming back to. Every day is a page in that story. Every conversation, every reaction, every moment where you chose presence over distraction. All of it is being written whether you are paying attention or not.

Most men drift through fatherhood on autopilot. They provide, they protect, they show up physically, and they call it enough. But enough is a low bar when the people watching you closest are learning how to be human beings from what they observe.

Your kids are not looking for a perfect father. Nobody has one. What they need is a present one. A real one. A father who lets them see him as a full human being rather than just an authority figure or an ATM.

You Still Have Time to Write It Differently

If you are reading this, the clock is still running for you. The story is not finished. There are still pages left.

That means there is still time to have the conversations you have been avoiding. To say the things that matter out loud instead of assuming they already know. To show up in the ways that actually count rather than the ways that are just easy.

One day the clock runs out for all of us. That is not morbid. That is just true. And the only question that matters then is whether the people who needed you most knew they had you.

Be that father. Not eventually. Not when things calm down. Now, today, with whatever time and energy you have available.

Start there. The rest will follow.

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So, I’m a Year Into The Empty Nest…

For those who follow this blog, you know I’m more than a year into the empty nest. I discovered this short post I never published and thought I’d share it.

I drove by their high school today. It’s been a DECADE this month since my oldest (twins) graduated high school…

Six years since graduating university…

My ponytail scrunchies are no longer MIA. Scissors are in the junk drawer when I need them. Things are where they belong. The stairs are clear, no piles of laundry to take up.

Sigh…

Why is it unpopular to miss the full nest? Women generally rejoice when it empties, strongly nudging their last one out the door. I haven’t missed the side-eyes of those wondering why it’s been a harder transition for me.

I’ve worked full-time, part-time and stayed at home most while the kids lived under our roof. Hardest job? Home.

I didn’t get paid for those clean toilets and no one left a tip on the table for the food they scarfed down in 12 minutes. Colleagues weren’t milling about the house complimenting my colorful tee-shirt or black yoga pants, telling me I look pretty today.

Being in the full nest can be lonely. But it’s the fullest I’ve ever been.

So, I started doing things I didn’t have time for before.

I finally bought the heirloom quality, outrageously expensive workhorse pots and pans I always dreamed of – I cook far less and hardly use them.

I have way more time to go clothes shopping but it’s not as much fun without my (fashionista) oldest with me.

There are many aspects of empty-nesting I enjoy. Writing, reading, resting, more exercise. But I miss the kids. I miss each of them individually. I miss the collective family life under one roof. I miss the echoes of their voices, the home teeming with life on the daily.

But I can’t have the quiet reading, writing and resting with the former constant action of running to the supermarket because I was inexplicably out of ketchup again – even in the back-up pantry.

Then I needed to be on a ball diamond at 4pm, and a hockey rink at 10pm, followed by a quick house pick-up at midnight…and there’s no proper rest before the alarm goes off at 5:30am.

We kept this pace for years and the slowness is an adjustment. Good – but requires reorienting. Conforming. Turning.

Life is weird. I trust God has His purpose in all seasons. After all, He created our cycles of human existence: little ones, youth, mid-life, old.

Each life phase carries deep meaning, but that truth doesn’t make this time any less strange or uncomfortable.

Thank you for joining me on this final Monday in April. I wish you a safe, healthy and good week ahead!

Bird Images: Mine: Family5Power