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Tag: leadership

  • Fatherhood Isn’t Just a Role — It’s Leadership in Action

    I haven’t posted anything personally about Father’s Day in the past, and I believe this might be the first time I’m sharing something about myself here. But this year, it felt important.

    Not because I’m looking for recognition, but because I know how many of us quietly carry the weight of leading our families behind the scenes.

    So from one dad to another: Happy Father’s Day.

    Maybe today didn’t go as planned.

    Maybe your spouse wasn’t feeling her best.

    Maybe the kids were bouncing off the walls.

    Maybe the food was “just okay.”

    Maybe, honestly, you’re just tired.

    Still — you showed up.

    You kept leading.

    That’s what fatherhood is.

    It’s not always about grand gestures or picture-perfect moments.

    It’s about presence.

    It’s about being consistent.

    It’s about showing love even when no one is watching — and when everything feels messy.

    Whether you’re running a business, clocking in full time, or figuring it out day by day, fatherhood is the kind of leadership that never stops. It doesn’t wait for applause or even appreciation. It simply shows up, again and again.

    And if today didn’t feel special…

    Or if you’re wrestling with the pressure to be “doing more”…

    Let me remind you: your presence is powerful.

    Your leadership matters — especially at home.

    So to the dads holding it down, whether you’re celebrated loudly or quietly in the background — I see you.

    Keep going. Keep leading.

    Happy Father’s Day.

    —

    P.S. Leadership isn’t always about titles or achievements. Sometimes, it looks like bedtime stories, quiet sacrifices, and doing the work no one else sees. And that, to me, is one of the highest callings there is.

  • The Playground Face-Off Between the Deaf Dad and Hearing Dad

    I’d like to share an incident between with my toddler and a hearing kid at the playground…

    The other day, my family and I went to a splash pad with other friends and their toddlers. There was a playground beside as well.

    My toddler’s hearing aids were taken off when playing at the splash pad. Then we went to play at the play structure afterward. It was a hot sunny day and good way to dry off anyway. We played on the swings then went around to pick up sticks and grass then brought them to the play structure. Also added wood chips. I guess you could say we were playing make-believe meals.

    While playing together a bit, I let my toddler play independently as there were other kids at the playground as well. Then there was a hearing kid who walked up behind my toddler and started speaking.

    My toddler turned around and got startled then looked at me signing, “She scared me.”

    This situation triggered me back to my childhood years at the playground. Growing up, I was taught to be polite (or whatever that is) and gesture by tapping on my ears to show I’m deaf. However, this isn’t what I taught my toddler to do. I recalled what my toddler just told me.

    Instead I told my toddler, “Tell her that.” And my toddler did.

    However, the hearing kid continued to speak.

    Again, this triggered me and I recall when I was a kid, I’d resort forcing myself to speak with my deaf voice, “I’m deaf… I canno… under…tand you…! …top it!” But I didn’t tell my toddler to speak.

    As a parent, I could see that the hearing kid wanted to play with my toddler, but my toddler looked at me signing, “I don’t hear her and I don’t understand her.”

    Instead, I signed back, “Tell her that.” And my toddler did.

    I could see that the hearing kid was confused then started to go closer right in front my my toddler’s face.

    My toddler signed, “Tell her to stop talking to me. I don’t understand her.”

    Another trigger was that I’d shove the hearing kid and just sucker punch them. When I was a kid, I sure had ways to communicate with my hands, specifically, my fists. But, I didn’t tell my toddler to do that.

    “Tell her that.” And my toddler did.

    The hearing kid was visibly frustrated and was offended, then went up to her father for a hug.

    My toddler noticed that she left her alone and looked at me, “It’s okay. She’s sad and needs to go to her father.”

    Clearly, this communication barrier made the hearing kid feel frustrated. I left that for her father to deal with her.

    Yes, I’m well-aware this made the hearing kid feel uncomfortable and that’s why her father was there to comfort her since it wasn’t my job to do that. My job was to coach my toddler to advocate and communicate unapologetically in ASL.

    In case you’re wondering how this ended. The father was explaining to his kid that my toddler is deaf and would have to wave or tap my toddler’s shoulders for attention. He coached his kid how to do this. Then they ended up having fun and playing together.

    And for us dads at the playground, we looked at each other, smiled and gave each other the dad nod.

    There was certainly a lesson to be learned out of this.