A Father Shaped by Absence

I didn’t grow up with the classic father-son story. My parents divorced in 1989, and after that, my relationship with my dad became—well, let’s just say it faded into the background. He remarried. He worked constantly. And while he was entrepreneurial and ambitious, he just wasn’t there in the way I needed him to be.

I don’t say that to play the victim or cast blame. Life’s complicated. But it did leave a space—a big, empty one—where guidance should have been.

And when there’s no blueprint? You have two choices: let the absence define you, or build something new from it.

I chose the second.

When You’re the One Who Needs a Coach

Looking back, I didn’t realize how much I craved mentorship until I found it in other places—teachers, uncles, older teammates, even bosses from my early jobs. Each of them gave me a piece of what was missing: encouragement, accountability, structure.

None of them replaced a father. But together, they created a patchwork of influence that helped me find my way.

And it stuck with me—especially as I got older. I realized that I wasn’t the only one carrying around that hole. A lot of young men were growing up like I did, unsure of what being a good man, leader, or teammate even looked like.

So I decided to become the coach I once needed.

Coaching Isn’t Just Whistles and Game Plans

Since 2014, I’ve been coaching youth and high school lacrosse in Gainesville—every level from middle school to varsity. I didn’t grow up with lacrosse. I came into it later in life. But I saw what it could do for kids, especially those without much structure at home.

It’s not just about cradling a stick or scoring goals. Coaching is a front-row seat to a young person’s development. It’s helping them learn how to fail, how to own their mistakes, how to show up even when they don’t feel like it.

Some of the boys I coach have dads in their lives. Some don’t. Some have fathers who are there physically but checked out emotionally. And others are just trying to figure it out solo.

That’s why I take this work seriously. I’m not trying to be anyone’s dad. But I am trying to be a man who shows up, listens, teaches, and holds a high standard—with heart.

You Lead by Being Present

I don’t have a psychology degree. I don’t come from a long line of professional mentors. What I have is presence.

I show up. On time. Every time.

I remember names. I check in when someone misses practice. I notice when a kid’s energy is off or when they’re pushing through something unspoken.

And let me tell you—presence is powerful. It doesn’t require big speeches or grand gestures. It just requires consistency. And when you come from a place where consistency was lacking, you realize just how much it matters.

These boys may forget a play, but they won’t forget who showed up for them when life got messy.

Redefining Masculinity, One Huddle at a Time

There’s a lot of noise these days about what it means to “be a man.” Some of it’s outdated. Some of it’s toxic. But in our huddles and sidelines, we get to reshape that narrative—quietly and consistently.

I teach that it’s okay to be competitive and compassionate. That leadership doesn’t mean barking orders, but listening and encouraging others. That strength doesn’t come from aggression—it comes from responsibility.

And sometimes, mentoring just means helping a kid realize that he matters. That he can screw up, bounce back, and keep moving forward.

That’s the kind of masculinity I wish had been modeled for me earlier in life. So now, I model it for others.

No Roadmap, Just Values

I’ll admit—there are days I wonder if I’m getting it right. I didn’t have a father who taught me how to coach, how to lead, or how to mentor. I’m figuring it out as I go.

But I’ve built a compass over the years. And here’s what it points to:

• Show up. Always.
  
• Listen more than you talk.
  
• Lead with integrity, not ego.
  
• Give second chances. But don’t lower the standard.
  
• Teach by example. Even when no one’s watching.
  

That’s not a playbook. But it’s a start.

A Legacy You Can Choose

There are a lot of things in life we don’t get to choose—who our parents are, how we were raised, what we missed out on. But we do get to choose how we show up for others.

For me, that’s meant building a legacy that’s not inherited, but earned.

Every kid I coach. Every teammate I mentor. Every board meeting I show up to with humility and purpose—it’s part of that legacy.

I may not have had a strong father figure growing up, but I’ve become the man I once needed. And now I get to offer that to others.

That, to me, is the true definition of fatherhood—not biology, but responsibility.