It’s my dad’s birthday this weekend. He won’t want anyone to know that. He doesn’t like a fuss. Doesn’t want balloons or cards or sentimental Instagram posts—he’d rather just have his Heineken, a smoke with his morning coffee, and maybe a decent meal he didn’t have to cook. But I’m writing this anyway, because sometimes the quiet heroes deserve to be seen—even when they’d rather disappear into the background.

To both of my dads—the one who gave me life and the one who gave me everything else—I carry your lessons in my bones. I carry your love like armor. I’m who I am because of you. And I’m thankful for that every single day.

It always starts the same. I’ll be half-listening, half-scrolling, and he’ll say something like, “So, you seeing anyone lately?”