The Version of Me They Will Remember
One day, my children will look back on me.
Not the version I imagine.
Not the version I defend when I feel misunderstood.
But the version they experienced — consistently, quietly, over time.
They won't remember every word I said or ever rule I enforced. They'll remember how safe they felt. How often I showed up. How I handled pressure, disappointment, and love when life didn't cooperate.
That realization is both heavy and clarifying.
Legacy is Written in Ordinary Days
Legacy isn't built in grand speeches or perfect seasons.
It's shaped in mornings that feel rushed.
In evenings when I'm tired but still listening.
In the way I speak about their mother, about work, about God, about myself.
It's written in what I model when no one is applauding — especially when I'm frustrated, uncertain, or worn thin.
The future version of their memories is being formed now, in the unnoticed spaces of everyday life.
What I Hope They Saw
I hope they remember a father who tried.
Not one who had all the answers, but one who kept learning.
Not one who never failed, but one who took responsibility when he did.
Not one who was perfect, but one who was present.
I hope they saw consistency more than intensity.
Integrity more than image.
Effort more than excuses.
Teaching Them Without Lecturing
Some lessons don't come from what we say.
They come from what we tolerate.
From how we apologize.
From how we recover when things go wrong.
I'm realizing that the most powerful teaching moments rarely feel like lessons at all. They feel like choices — made quietly, repeated often, and noticed later.
Becoming the Man They'll Describe Someday
I can't control the future version of their story.
But I can influence the man they'll describe when someone asks, "What was your dad like?"
That answer is being shaped right now — in patience practiced, values lived, and love shown without conditions.
If tomorrow is unwritten, then this part is clear:
I want the paes they remember to feel steady.
Safe.
Honest.
And full of love.
Choosing Today for the Sake of Tomorrow
The future doesn't begin someday.
It begins now — in the way I live today.
And if they ever look back and see a man who stayed, who tried, who loved well even when it was hard, then this chapter — and all the ones after it — will have been worth writing.
"We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he has done." — Psalm 78:4