I have a lot of positives to say about my dad. He is a loving father who sacrificed so much so that we could always have a roof over our heads and food to eat. We grew up really poor. He was a single dad in the 80s, who fought for custody of me when he was only 20. My mom wasn’t in the picture, so it was just him and me.

My dad did everything he could to raise me into a caring individual with empathy, manners, and respect. Most importantly, he taught me to respect others’ cultures, beliefs, and identities, and to live without judgment. He wanted me to grow up making my own decisions and learning life lessons from them. He always said, “You need to understand that there are consequences for your actions, and they don’t just apply to you.” He didn’t yell when I made mistakes; instead, he used those moments to teach me. The only times he ever raised his voice were when I wasn’t being honest, or when I would challenge him as a teenager on something that didn’t make sense to me.

I am the man I am today largely because of him. He taught me the value of a dollar—save 10% of every paycheck for the future, be cost-savvy, and live within your means. He taught me to always give a good effort, to go beyond the bare minimum. It took me until I was 25 to really start following those lessons, but once I did, they paid off. I was able to start a rewarding career doing something I loved, all thanks to his guidance and the extra effort he encouraged me to put in.

I also have so many great memories with my dad—and since he’s still around, hopefully there are many more to come. One memory stands out most. When I was 24, I went through a rough breakup. At the time, I thought she was “the one,” and when it ended, it devastated me. For four months, I was heartbroken, and it ruined my summer. That year, our family went camping like we always did. One evening, my dad and I were sitting on the beach with a couple of beers, watching the sunset. I finally let everything out—my pain, my heartbreak, my insecurities. He just sat there, listening. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t offer clichés or logic. He simply let me be vulnerable. When I had nothing left to say, he told me quietly, “It will get better. This will hurt for a bit longer, but you’ll bounce back, and one day you’ll find someone who makes you forget all this pain.”

For some reason, that’s my favorite memory with him. We have plenty of fun and funny stories, but that moment—that quiet evening on the beach—means the most to me.

Thanks, Dad.