As the administrator and editor of this blog, I’m taking the liberty to write an article in honor of my dad.

I could share countless stories from my childhood that illustrate how my dad shaped who I am, but instead, I’ll focus on one brief yet pivotal phase of my life.

It was my senior year, circa 1985 (hey, it’s Dad’s blog, gotta keep the vintage flair). I was beginning to stress over what on earth I wanted to do with the rest of my life. It’s really unfair to put that kind of pressure on a 17-year-old. I toyed with a career in medicine, joined the oh-so-nerdy chemistry team, and even dabbled in “medical explorers”—though my most vivid memory of that time involves participating alongside my future loving bride. I also considered becoming a commercial airline pilot, driven by my lifelong fascination with airplanes, thanks to being an Air Force brat and frequenting military air shows. But my path became crystal clear when I excelled in physics class, acing college-level tests while the smartest person I knew—yes, that same eventual bride—struggled. I was going to be an engineer.

My dad had a successful career in the Air Force, which shaped me in many ways. We moved, on average, every three years, swapping homes, friends, and routines. This frequent moving allowed us kids to reinvent ourselves if needed, learning from our mistakes along the way. None of us kids were as extroverted as Dad, which he attributed to the saying, “Children should be seen and not heard.” However, I suspect it was a combination of inheriting our mom’s introverted nature and the frequent moves that destabilized our social networks, turning us inward as a coping mechanism.

During this pivotal phase, the one pressure I didn’t have was following in Dad’s footsteps, though I didn’t recognize it at the time. As I filled out applications for schools and planned my path to a career as an aerospace engineer, the last thing I wanted was to pursue an ROTC scholarship that obligated me to even a minimal tour in the military. That was not a life I wanted. Since this felt like a “rejection” of my dad and the life he chose for us, I was terrified to say that desire out loud. My dad was convinced I was a lazy, irresponsible teen who would perish if left to my own devices. He kept asking if I had filled out the ROTC application, and passively-aggressively, I’d change the subject or conveniently “forget” the paperwork or due dates. When finally backed into a proverbial corner, Dad asked, “Do you not want to go into the Air Force?”

“No,” I blurted, welling up, preparing for disappointment.

“Okay then, why didn’t you just say so?” was my dad’s response.

“Wait…what?”

Sure, an ROTC scholarship would have been a weight off the pocketbook, but Dad just wanted us to pursue our own path, lean into our strengths and passions, and be happy and fulfilled.

I may not have followed his career path, but I received something far more valuable: his unconditional love and acceptance for who I was and, when it came right down to it, whatever it took to achieve that aim.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I am thankful you allowed me to be who I was and not who you thought I would or should be. I love you.

Enuf.

– Jim