The Fatherhood I Fought For

Baby Pretzel showed up the day after Jake made Eagle Scout, and it’s wild how life can hit you with joy and ache in the same breath. One day I’m meeting my first grandchild, and the day before I’m watching my son—my boy—reach something he’s been grinding toward since Cub Scouts. I’m so damn proud of him. But under all that pride, there’s a sting I can’t ignore.

For a lot of years, I at least had more time with Jake. First every weekend… then every other… and then a judge decided once a month was “more fair,” because someone didn't want to drive halfway. That ruling felt like someone slowly cut away the time I had with my own son. No matter how many seven-hour round-trips I made because someone refused to meet halfway—through rain, traffic, exhaustion—you can’t drive fast enough to outrun that feeling.

And I’ve always lived for spring breaks and those little slices of summer vacation. Those were my golden hours. The times I could just be his dad. Wake up slow. Make pancakes. Have a normal morning without a custody schedule dictating my minutes. But the last couple years have been tough. He had camporee, he had commitments, and of course things always seemed to get scheduled right across my half of the summer.

And yeah—I’ll say this plainly because it’s the truth: the custody battle has been messy from day one. There were plenty of moments Jake should’ve been with us, and he wasn’t—because his mother made things harder than they ever needed to be. There were times when her decisions felt less about Jake, and more about making sure I didn’t get something. Times where it was obvious she’d rather win the argument than let our son have another weekend of memories.

And I won’t sugarcoat it: that still pisses me off.

Because those decisions cost him things he shouldn’t have missed—fishing trips, ocean days, exploring the Outer Banks, New York adventures, late nights laughing with all the kids, just being part of our full, wild, loud family. He should’ve been there. There were empty spots because he wasn’t.

And it hurts knowing he didn’t miss those things because he didn’t want to be with us. He missed them because adults were being stubborn and petty and thinking about everything except what was best for him.

This summer was another hard one. He didn’t come out at all—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was pouring everything into his Eagle project. Every weekend he was building, planning, measuring, leading. Becoming the young man he needed to be. And I wasn’t going to take that from him. I was proud of that dedication… even as the house felt empty.

We talked constantly. We stayed connected the best we could. But even with all the phone calls and the effort on both sides, some nights I still felt absent. Like I was failing him somehow—even when I know I’ve been doing everything a dad is supposed to do, even from miles away.

But then I stood there watching him receive his Eagle award. I saw the confidence, the leadership, the heart in that kid. And it reminded me of something I needed to hear: love doesn’t always look like being physically present every minute. Sometimes it’s the miles you drive, the promises you keep, the time you sacrifice, and the space you give your kid to grow into someone you’re proud of.

And I am. God, I am. Proud of the man Jake is becoming. Proud of the work he’s done. Proud that despite everything stacked against us, he still knows exactly who his dad is.