There are moments in life that seem small while they are happening.
A few throws.
A football spiraling through the air.
A son laughing in the backyard.
A dad pretending his shoulder still works like it did 20 years ago.
But someday, those are the moments our children remember forever.
Many of you know my prized eldest son, Jack, who is 9 years old and one of the most creative kids I have ever been around. As he gets older, I realize more and more that he and I are not necessarily wired the same way — and honestly, I love that.
Fifteen years ago, I probably would have tried pushing my own interests onto him. I probably would have thought being a dad meant molding him into a younger version of myself.
At 41 years old, though, I’ve learned something important: our job as parents is not to create copies of ourselves. It’s to discover who our kids already are and meet them there.
Jack has always had a wildly imaginative mind. For years, he has loved inflatable holiday decorations. Halloween inflatables. Christmas inflatables. Giant snowmen, pumpkins and anything oversized and goofy. Recently, though, his obsession has shifted to mascots.
And not casually.
He studies them.
He watches the mascot for the Indianapolis Colts like some kids watch game film. He talks about wanting to become the mascot for the Richmond Flying Mummies baseball team someday. He even bought his own mascot costume and walks around the house in it like it’s perfectly normal.
Honestly, I think it’s hilarious. And brilliant.
Kids see the world differently than adults do. Somewhere along the line, most adults lose that creativity because life tells us to “grow up.” Jack reminds me every day that imagination might actually be one of the greatest gifts we have.
Then something happened recently that caught me by surprise.
Because of his love for football mascots, he decided he wanted to learn how to throw and catch a football.
So now, almost every day we are together, he asks me to go outside and “play hut.”
Not catch.
“Hut.”
And when we go outside, he wants bombs.
Forty-yard rockets.
The kind that remind me immediately that my body is no longer 19 years old. My shoulder has been sore on and off for a week, but every time he runs down the yard, turns around and catches the football, I can’t help but smile.
Because I know what’s really happening.
We aren’t just throwing a football.
We are building memories.
And every single throw takes me back to my own dad.
My dad and I didn’t play catch every single day, but we played enough. More importantly, he was present. I still remember him teaching me football routes in the backyard: fly routes, button-hooks, flats, ins and outs. At the time, it probably felt ordinary to him.
To me, it became permanent.
Funny how life works that way.
Parents rarely realize which moments their children will carry forever.
I never had to ask my dad if his father played catch with him growing up. I already know the answer. Different generations had different struggles, different priorities and different realities. But somewhere along the line, my dad helped start a tradition — one that now stretches to my boys.
And now little Lincoln, at just 15 months old, wants in on it too.
He chases after the football constantly. He seems far more interested in the “ball, catch and run” concept than Jack ever was at that age. Every night, it turns into chaos inside our house as we throw footballs from one side of the living room to the other.
I’ll give Jack and my wife, Amanda, credit.
So far, we haven’t broken anything.
Yet.
But the older I get, the more I realize none of this is actually about football.
It’s about connection.
We live in a world where parents are constantly being pulled in every direction imaginable. Jobs. Bills. Notifications. TikTok. Travel sports. Activities. Stress. The endless chase for more money, more success and more things.
Meanwhile, the most important investment we will ever make is sitting right in front of us asking if we want to play catch.
And someday, those requests stop coming.
That’s the part nobody warns parents about.
There will be a final time your son asks you to throw the football. A final bedtime story. A final ride to school. A final moment when your child still thinks spending 20 minutes with you is the greatest thing in the world.
That realization hits harder as you get older.
The beautiful thing is that kids don’t need perfection from us. They do not need expensive vacations, elite sports programs or a perfectly curated childhood.
They need presence.
They need laughter.
They need moments.
Sometimes, they just need someone willing to throw the football one more time, even when their shoulder hurts.
Years from now, I doubt Jack will remember every toy he owned or every show he watched.
But I believe he will remember “playing hut” with his dad.
Just like I still remember playing catch with mine.