The Hands That Held Us
Every June, like clockwork, the world pauses just a little, long enough to lean in, to look back, and to honor the men whose quiet strength built our worlds.
Father’s Day isn’t about neckties or grilling gear, or any of the things commercials try to sell us. It’s about legacy. It’s about the echoes of laughter, the calloused hands that lifted us when we fell, and the kind of love that speaks in actions louder than words ever could.
Some fathers are loud in their love; cheering from the bleachers, cracking jokes at the dinner table, flipping pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. Others are silent warriors; fixing what’s broken, showing up without fanfare, always steady, always there.
And then… there are the father-figures. The step-ins. The grandfathers. The uncles, brothers, neighbors, mentors, and friends. The ones who chose us. Who filled in the gaps with grace and grit and showed us that family isn’t always blood, it’s love, lived out loud.
My Dad!
He’s part oak tree, part compass, part sentinel.
He is sturdy and rooted, always pointing us to true north.
He wasn’t a cuddly dad when I was younger. He was strong and stable.
He was the one saying, “You can do this. You are strong enough. You are my daughter.”
He built me tough because he believed in my strength, and now, as time has weathered us both, he has softened into the man we all gather around, our living archive of stories, wisdom, and dad jokes that somehow still make us laugh. And he was right I was and am strong enough to handle anything, I am Lee Anderson's daughter.
He gave me a home before I could spell the word, and a name I could stand tall in. A name that was mine even when legally it was not it was and I reclaimed as quickly as I could. My adult life has not been easy but he has always given me a soft place to land when my world was thrown into chaos whether for a month every summer so I could just breathe or like now, a forever home for all of us that we will never have to flee from. A home where "his" are always safe.
His life, his sacrifice, his story, it’s woven into the very soil beneath my feet. And if all that weren’t enough, he even fought death. Twice! When he was put on hospice, I remember holding his hand begging, “Please, not yet. I still need you. I’m not ready.” And somehow by grit, by faith, by sheer will, he came back. Not once, but twice. He clawed his way back to us. And now, every day we get to see him is a miracle that chokes us up with silent gratitude.
He never stopped being a father. Not when we turned 18. Not when we moved out.
Not even now, decades later.When my dad makes a vow he makes a lifetime vow! His vow was to put his family first, every day, without condition, without end.That vow didn’t retire when he did. It got louder.
Now, we wake up every day with the honor of still seeing him.
His great-grandsons don’t know him as just a photo on the wall or a name in a family tree.
He’s there. At the birthdays, the first and last day of school, the tender milestones.
He’s in the memories, not just beside them.
They will grow up telling stories of Papa’s “mind-melding," his way of saying a thousand things without ever needing to speak.
He is Dad. He is Papa. He is Great-Grandpa.
This Father’s Day, let’s honor the ones like him.The men who never clock out, never quit loving, never stop showing up. Let’s live out the lessons they gave us:
Stand strong.
Love hard.
Be the person your family can count on, even when life gets heavy.
Because being a father isn’t just about having children, it’s about showing up like you mean it. It’s about leaving behind something better than what you found. It’s about being the roots so others can grow.
Happy Father’s Day to the ones who stay.
The ones who protect, provide, and pour themselves out for love.
You are the reason we stand tall today.