Being an unofficial father

What would you do if you suddenly found yourself raising a child who isn’t yours?

This isn’t one of those stories about step-parenting, nor is it about questions of legitimacy. It’s about showing up for someone who needs you. It’s about becoming the father figure to my sister’s son after she passed away almost five years ago.

There’s still grief. There are still court hearings. There’s still the fact that his real father drops in only occasionally. But this isn’t about that. This story is not about absence. This story is about presence.

This is about what happens when a boy needs someone to look up to, someone to guide him, protect him, and prepare him for life.

That someone became me.

There’s this 12-year-old kid, full of life and potential. The world is in front of him, and all he really needs is someone who will show up every day and stay by his side. That’s what I try to do. And thankfully, I had a father who taught me how.

My dad prepared me for this, even if none of us saw it coming. When I was growing up, he was the first to rise every morning. Up at 4 AM, preparing food, waking me up, driving me to school. Then picking me up without fail. Every single day. Without ever asking for thanks.

And now I find myself doing the exact same thing. Waking up early. Going to work. Juggling responsibilities. Quietly grinding through the day to make sure someone else is okay. And surprisingly, thankfully, it’s not something new to me. He taught me how to do this long before I had to.

My nephew, his grandson, doesn’t have to see the hard parts. Just like I didn’t. Because my dad taught me how to work, and how to smile while doing it.

He was the kind of man who laughed everything off. Always cracking jokes. Always trying to lighten the mood. And then working silently in the background to provide for us all. That combination of joy and duty and he balanced it like it was second nature.

He taught me how to be that kind of man. How to show up with a smile, even on the days when it’s hard. How to be the jolly one for my nephew, so he doesn’t have to worry about the weight I’m carrying. That’s love. That’s fatherhood. That’s a man.

He never hit us. Never shouted. Never belittled. He was gentle, patient, kind. And he gave up so much of himself — time, energy, comfort — without ever making it a big deal. I don’t think he realizes just how much we saw. How much we know. How much we appreciate.

And if he’s reading this, I hope he finally understands: we know. We know what you’ve done for us. We know how far your sacrifices reached. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been there.

Now, as my nephew grows and I try to become the man he can rely on, I see my dad in everything I do. In the discipline, in the humor, in the sacrifices. He may not have sat me down and explained what being a father means — but he lived it. And I learned.

At just 24, I didn’t expect to be raising someone. But thanks to him, I was ready. I don’t mind the early mornings or tired nights. I don’t mind the pressure or responsibility. Because he never did. And now, neither do I.

This Father’s Day, I’m celebrating the man who showed me how to carry the weight of a family with grace, humor, and quiet strength.

Thank you, Dad. Because of you, your grandson has someone to call “Tito” who’s trying to be just as great a father as you were to me.