More Than a Mirror

What a 55-Year-Old Photo Taught Me About Inheritance and Identity

By LONNIE KING

My wife showed me a photo the other day—an old picture of her dad taken more than 50 years ago. Crisp shirt. Young face. But what made me stop wasn’t the style or the age of the photo. It was the face.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t looking at my father-in-law.  I was looking at our son, Hunter.

The resemblance was uncanny. Same eyes. Same jawline. Same expression. It was like someone had taken Hunter’s face and dropped it into another time.

But as alike as they look, they are—at their core—very different men.

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Experience Shapes More Than DNA

My father-in-law is a Vietnam veteran. He served two tours overseas, saw war up close, and came home to a country that didn’t understand what he’d been through. He carries physical scars. He carries memories that most of us will never fully grasp.

His worldview has been shaped by discipline, survival, and the reality that some battles leave a mark long after the fighting stops.

Hunter, on the other hand, grew up in a house filled with storytelling, journalism, and sports broadcasting. He was drawn to that world early—drawn to the search for truth and the responsibility of telling it. He studied journalism in college and now works as a reporter for a TV news station.

His worldview has been shaped by curiosity, compassion, and a fierce belief that asking the hard questions is not an act of rebellion but an act of integrity.

They look alike. But their experiences, their influences, and their core values have taken them in opposite directions.

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Opposite Directions, Shared Humanity

One leans far right. The other leans far left. And for now, that’s okay. Because agreement isn’t the goal.  Growth is.

What I hope for—what I pray for—isn’t just peace at the dinner table. It’s that life will keep softening the edges.

Because for all their differences, these two men share something beneath the surface: they’re both pretty convinced their worldview is the right one.  Not in a smug way, but in that deeply rooted, quietly immovable way that settles into a person over time.

My father-in-law has earned his convictions through survival and sacrifice. My son is still forging his through curiosity and conviction.  But the certainty they carry—the strong sense that their way of seeing the world is the world—can become a kind of armor. And over time, armor stops being protective and starts being isolating.

It’s tragic to watch someone grow old but never let their views evolve—never allow new stories or new people to reshape their understanding of truth, or pain, or what matters most. And honestly, it scares me a little to think my son might follow that same path—just in a completely different direction. Forty years from now, will he still be willing to listen? To change? To be wrong?

So my hope is this: that the veteran who’s seen the worst of humanity keeps finding room for grace. And that the journalist who questions everything learns to hold room for nuance and mystery.  That they both keep meeting people who complicate their assumptions. People who challenge them, soften them, surprise them.

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What We Pass On (and What We Don’t)

I sometimes wonder how much influence I really have on either of them.

With my father-in-law, that influence feels small. Maybe even nonexistent. He’s lived through things I never have. He’s earned his right to see the world the way he does—and he’s not looking for a new lens. At this stage in his life, I’m not sure he could be persuaded to change his mind on much, even if he wanted to.

But with my son, it’s different. I still see the potential for shift, even in the moments when he digs in. There have been times—small conversations, text exchanges, quiet pushbacks—where I’ve seen the door crack open. Where I’ve offered a different way of seeing, and instead of slamming the door, he’s paused. He hasn’t always agreed. But he’s listened.

Now, don’t get me wrong: Hunter and I see eye-to-eye on most issues.  But, when we don’t, it’s good to know we’ve cultivated a relationship where we both feel safe in expressing our disagreements.  At times, I’ve listened and learned from him.  But, at alternate times, I feel like I’ve been able to share a differing viewpoint and get him to hear me.  And that gives me hope.

Because I’m not trying to raise a replica. I’m trying to raise a thinker. Someone who’s open. Someone who wrestles with truth instead of clinging to comfort. Someone who keeps learning long after the degrees are earned.

Genetics can pass down a face…but not a mindset.  And, that’s not a flaw in the system. 

That’s actually the whole beauty of it.

Grace and grit to you! — LK