My father worked two jobs his entire life. He was a janitor during the day and drove a cab at night. I rarely saw him, but when I did, every moment was intentional. He taught me to play chess on Sunday mornings, the only time he had off. "Every move matters, son," he would say. "Think three steps ahead."
When I became a father, I was determined to be more present. I coached little league, attended every school play, and yes, I taught my son Marcus to play chess. But life has a way of humbling you. As my career grew, so did the demands on my time. I found myself becoming the absent father I swore I would never be.
It was Marcus who brought me back. At twelve years old, he sat me down and said, "Dad, I don't need more stuff. I need more you." Those words hit me harder than anything I had ever heard.
I made changes. I turned down the promotion that would have meant more travel. I started our Sunday chess tradition again. And when Marcus had his own son, I watched him become the father I always wanted to be—present, patient, and purposeful.
Now I sit with my grandson, teaching him the same chess moves my father taught me. Three generations, one legacy. My father may not have had much time, but he gave me everything that mattered. And that's what I've passed on—not wealth or status, but the understanding that being there is the greatest gift a father can give.