I was scrolling LinkedIn today—doomscrolling, honestly—and there it was: a flood of Father’s Day posts.

People I respect. People who inspire me. Sharing stories of the men who raised them. The lessons. The warmth. The silent strength.
How those fathers shaped them—not just professionally, but as people. As parents.

And here’s the part that hits: I didn’t get that.

For years, I carried this complaint—quiet sometimes, loud other times—about the father figure in my life.
Not abusive. Not cruel. Just… not there.
Not emotionally. Not in the ways that counted.

But here’s the twist: that absence? It taught me something that for many years I ignored.
It became a kind of blueprint—but one made in negative space, I was looking for the wrong thing.
Instead of showing me what to follow, it decided it was a sign of what to avoid.
The silence? I understood I would turn it into conversation.
The distance? I would make strides to make me present.
The doubt or lack of answers? I took the time to shape the explanations into transparent thoughts and emotions.

Being a father now, I see it all more clearly. The patterns. The pressure.
I made it my motto to be different. No—I’m being different.
And it shows in the small stuff, with discipline, focus, dedication which with time it becomes the big stuff.

I go to their games. Even when I’m exhausted.
I check in—not just “How was school?” but “What was the highlight of your day?” Or “I am here if you want to talk or if you need just someone to listen”
I say “I love you forever, infinitely, no matter what and in all the lives” like it’s nothing and everything at once.
I teach them not just how to solve problems, but how to sit with them and react to embrace them and look for the solution because complaining will only drain your core energy and will stuck you without guidance, movement and far from the solution.

Look, this isn’t a redemption act. I’m not romanticizing pain.
I want to share what my journey has been and what I’ve learned with legacies that don’t always come in gold trim and happy memories.
Sometimes they come as they come, sometimes with warning signs.
Sometimes you get to learn and realize that the “gift” is the “gap”.

And to close en beauté, I got a quick word for those with great dads: hold them close.
If I were you and knowing what I know today, I would enjoy them and be grateful.
Not everyone has or had that experience.

To those without: you’re not broken – You were given the opportunity to build up character from a different kind of blueprint. And maybe—just maybe—that makes you more awake.

More human?