He didn’t have to, but he did.

Father’s Day came and went yesterday. Social media was full of the usual: golfing, barbecues, old photos with captions about what dad taught you and what he means to you. All great stuff, and I enjoyed making my way through.

But for me, Father’s Day hits different. It has for a while now.

I spent three years in a relationship with a woman who had two young boys. I tried to be part of their lives, to show up, be steady. But if I’m being honest, looking back now, I didn’t have the impact I hoped to. Balancing three relationships is hard. I wasn’t their dad, and their dad was still around. Watching them have a solid relationship with him was great, but it was also tough. I felt like an outsider more often than I care to admit.

And now, a few years removed from that relationship, I think about those boys more and more. I think about what I could have done better. What I should have done better. That regret doesn’t go away easily. I did the best I could with what I had at the time, but I can see now that it wasn’t enough.

What I didn’t realize then, but understand a lot better now, is that you don’t get good at anything—not leadership, not love, not life—without screwing it up first. That includes trying to play a role in a kid’s life when you’re not sure where you fit. I was learning in real time, and learning isn’t clean. It’s clumsy. It’s late-night overthinking. It’s “I wish I had” on repeat. It’s your ego getting in the way, keeping you from admitting you have no idea what you’re doing, even to the people who could probably help you most.

Here’s what I do know: it takes guts to step into a kid’s life when they aren’t biologically yours. My dad did that when he married my mom and adopted me. I was two. I’ve never met my biological father, and I’ve never felt the need to.

The man who raised me didn’t have to, but he did.

He didn’t have to teach me all the life lessons he conveyed through how he showed up, but he did.

He didn’t have to pack up the house and move twice just so I could play the sport I loved, but he did.

He didn’t have to come to every practice and every game, but he did.

He didn’t have to instill the values and manners that still guide how I treat people, but he did.

And that taught me something about what a dad really is.

When things got tough in my own family, especially during the worst of my brother’s addiction, another man showed up. My best friend’s dad. When I arrived with a truck bed full of my stuff and no plan, he made space. No questions asked. No speeches. Just a room and a roof.

He didn’t have to, but he did.

When the family went on trips, he didn’t have to include me, but he did.

When money was tight for me during undergrad, he gave me a job delivering machine parts to his customers so I could make some extra cash. He didn’t have to, but he did.

That’s fatherhood, too.

There are times in this work when I get personal. I share stories—usually about a time I fucked something up—to drive home a point. And if I’m being honest, I think I also tell them to make up for past shortcomings. A way to pay it forward. To take what I’ve learned the hard way and hope it makes a difference in someone else’s relationships. I don’t have to, but I do. 

Lately, the feedback has been encouraging. One firefighter heard a story I shared and, that same night, sent me a photo of him playing with his three-year-old son with a nice note attached. He didn’t have to, but he did. Moments like that don’t erase the regret, but they soften it. They replace some of the weight with something closer to pride.

Over the years, a few people have told me I’d make a great father. It’s meant as a compliment, and I take it that way. But it also hurts. Because I had a shot once, and I didn’t get it right. That thought sticks with me more than I let on.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be in that role again, trying to earn a place in a child’s life who wasn’t born into mine. But if I am, I’ll do it differently. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I’ve learned.

The hard way.

So this Father’s Day, a day late, here’s to the men who step in. The ones who try, even when they don’t have the blueprint. The ones who don’t always get it right. And the ones who keep showing up anyway. You don’t have to, but you do. 

Better late than never. And better now than before.

As always: Be Mentally Tougher.