Still Their Dad: A Father’s Day Reflection on Loving Grown-Up Kids

“The truth is, we don’t get to write our kids’ endings. But we do get to show up for the chapters they’re living now.”

Father’s Day Changes Over Time

When the kids are little, it’s all crayon cards, pancake breakfasts, and coffee mugs with “World’s Best Dad” screen-printed on the face. You feel like you’re getting most of it right—just by being there, just by trying.

But then they grow up. And you grow up too, in a different way. The cape comes off. The decisions get harder. The problems get more complicated. And you realize that being a father doesn’t end when your kids turn 18. It just changes. You’re still their dad—but now you have to love them without fixing everything.

Four Kids, Four Journeys

I have four adult children. Each on a different path. Each carrying their own joys and heartaches. Each still deeply loved.

Sarah, my oldest, is back home with us for a while. After a long-term relationship ended and a job fell through, she’s trying to find her footing again. It’s hard to watch your child feel stuck. And harder still not to ask yourself what more you could’ve done to prepare her for life’s left turns.

Kaitlyn recently moved back to Houston after a few years in Austin. She’s built a solid career, has her own place, and seems centered and confident. I’m incredibly proud of her independence and the calm strength she carries. But even when things seem stable, I hope she always knows her dad is still in her corner.

Tyler recently completed his service in the Air Force and is now working for an aviation company. His wife, also in the military, still has time left in her service, so they’re navigating life from different places—literally and emotionally. They’re sorting out what the future looks like while raising their beautiful daughter, Aviva. At three years old, she’s the joy and sunshine of our family. And while I don’t know what’s ahead for them, I pray for peace and clarity, and I’m proud of Tyler’s courage to keep stepping forward.

Hunter, our youngest, is pursuing what he’s always wanted—a career in journalism. He’s currently working as a TV reporter in Macon, Georgia. It’s his first job out of college, and while I know he’s doing good work, I also know the reality hasn’t matched the ideal he envisioned. Small-market news can be tough when you come from big-city expectations. I love him to death—and yes, I see some growing pains that come with being young and ambitious. But that doesn’t make me love him less. It just reminds me how hard it is to find your place when you’re just starting out.

When You Wonder if You Got It Right

These are my kids. Different. Imperfect. Amazing. I love them because I’m their dad. Still.

But I’d be lying if I said this part of fatherhood doesn’t come with its own kind of ache. There are nights I lie awake wondering if I did enough—or too much. If I modeled the right kind of strength, or if I tried to shield them from the very things that now overwhelm them. If I passed down tools or just told stories.

The hardest truth I’ve had to learn is this: I can’t fix what I wish I could. But I can be here. I can listen. I can love. And I can keep showing up.

Faith, Doubt, and the Things We Pass Down

“I haven’t lost my faith in God. I’ve lost my faith in religion that abuses people in God’s name.”

For most of my parenting years, faith played a central role in our family. We went to church regularly. We were involved in faith-based activities. We taught our kids about prayer, service, and the hope we found in our beliefs.

But somewhere along the way, I began to notice a shift in the world of American Christianity—particularly in the way politics and religion became inseparable. What I once viewed as faith began to feel like something else: nationalism wrapped in a Bible verse. I realized that most people who profess a faith in Jesus Christ don’t really know–or care to know–anything about him at all. And it broke my heart.

Over time, I began to deconstruct my own beliefs. Not because I stopped believing in God. But because I couldn’t keep believing in a system that seemed more interested in power than people. I haven’t lost my faith in the divine—I’ve lost my faith in a version of religion that abuses people in God’s name.

And yet… I wonder. I wonder how that shift affected my kids. I wonder what they saw, what they absorbed, what they questioned. I wonder if my disillusionment left them without an anchor, or if my honesty gave them permission to find a more authentic one.

The Love That Doesn’t Quit

Fatherhood at this stage isn’t about control. It’s about presence. About making peace with not having all the answers and still being willing to sit in the hard stuff with your kids. It’s about listening more than you speak, hoping more than you fear, and believing—even when they don’t—that they’re going to be okay.

I don’t know how this story ends for each of my kids.

What I do know is that where they are now is not the end for any of them.

And I want them to know that.

I’m still here.
Still their dad.
Still loving them.

And if you’re a dad reading this who finds yourself in a similar place—full of love, full of questions, still trying—I hope you’ll give yourself grace too.

We didn’t stop being fathers when they stopped needing help tying their shoes.

We just learned to walk beside them a little differently.