I had a birthday recently, which always makes me think of my dad.  This isn’t unusual, birthdays cause many people to think of their parents.  Although in my case there is a more uncommon connection: my dad and I shared a birthday.  On the day I was born he turned 49. 

I used to joke that I was the best present he ever got; he liked to remind me that I was the gift he never stopped paying for.

For the first 25 years of my life, until he passed away in 1993, we celebrated together which always made the day extra special for me.  Birthdays haven’t been the same without him.

My dad was my hero when I was a boy.  As a young man he was a member of the last commissioned U.S. Cavalry in New Mexico and an expert marksman while both riding at full gallop on horseback and standing up.  He flew gliders and transport planes in World War II, taking part in some of the most decisive battles of the war – including Holland and Normandy.  He even once spoke with Eisenhower, which is a funny story for a different time. 

All this before the age of 25.  My resume at the same age wasn’t nearly as impressive.

Dad worked in the airline business and traveled all over the world.  (He had a knack for being out of town whenever it snowed and the driveway needed shoveling – much to my mom’s chagrin.) 

One of my fondest childhood memories was the day he brought me to Kennedy Airport and arranged for me to tour the inside of a 747-cargo plane and sit in the cockpit.  Pretty cool stuff for a kid.

Of course, boys grow into teenagers, and somewhere along the way, we start to see the human side of our heroes.

When I was in high school my dad experienced professional setbacks as the airline he worked for was acquired and the new management cut heads.  It’s an all-too-common corporate story these days, but back in the 1980s it was new and unexpected territory.  Men of my father’s generation expected that if they did their jobs and performed well, the company would take care of them. 

Compounding matters, unlike many men his age, he had two young kids at home and college payments looming.  That’s a lot of stress to carry for a middle-aged man, something I didn’t truly appreciate as a teenager.  Watching his struggles had a profound impact on me and, as I grew older, often unconsciously shaped how I processed events and decisions in my own career.

To be clear, this story has a happy ending.  My dad eventually found work, discovered a new sense of purpose and meaning in his life, and made wonderful memories with my mom and our family.  Dad was a happy, contented man when he died.  All of us should be so lucky.

I remember the last time we saw each other.  My fiancé Deanna, now my wife, and I visited him in the hospital the day before the heart surgery that he would not survive.  He was upbeat, light-hearted, and looking forward to going home.  His only concern was sparing Deanna a view of his exposed backside while walking to the bathroom in his hospital gown.  I kissed him and told him I loved him before leaving. 

The memories of that final visit have sustained me over the years in ways I can’t express, especially when I hear stories from friends who weren’t as fortunate when they lost a parent.

Now I’m in my late 50s – my kids were nice enough to confirm that 57 qualifies as late 50s – and approaching the age my dad was when his major career challenges began.  As I’ve navigated my post fifty career journey and blogged about mid-life career transitions in general, I find myself thinking more and more about Dad’s experiences and my memories of those days.

As my family and the few people close to me who I’ve discussed this with like to remind me, our situations aren’t really comparable.  When my dad was my age, he had two young kids at home.  I’m an empty nester with college payments behind me.  And the arcs of our respective careers have been very different.

Earlier I said that when we emerge from childhood we realize our heroes are all too human.  But now as I consider my dad from the perspective of middle age and what I’ve learned about life, I see the hero in him once again.  Not because he handled things perfectly, no question he made his share of mistakes like all of us do, but because he showed courage and humility in the face of his challenges.  And most importantly, he refused to give up or be defeated. 

Unfortunately, in this social media era, fiction is presented as fact and image trumps substance.  We are flooded with highly curated, image-driven narratives constructed to maximize engagement on Instagram and TikTok.  The people may be real, but their stories feel fake, like something sanitized and crafted for a Hallmark card.

What we need, especially for our young people, are authentic role models.  Real stories about people like my dad and countless others who quietly endured difficult setbacks, got knocked down but got back up and kept going.  The best lesson we can teach our kids is that sustained resilience, especially as we get older, is the essential ingredient to a well-lived life.

For me, that’s the type of middle-age heroism we should be celebrating and emulating.  If I have one regret related to my dad these days, it’s that he isn’t around for me to let him know how much his example has meant to me – and to thank him for showing me what it means to be resilient.  Having said that, as a spiritual person I’m assured by faith that whenever my time comes, I’ll get the chance.  Until then, here’s to our birthday, Dad.