Meet My Parents

My parents have always been happiest with a simple life: family, hard work, time together, and taking care of the people around them.

They are two of the most down-to-earth, hardworking people I know.

They’ve never needed much to be happy. Growing up, they worked hard, made what they had last, and somehow always made sure we had what we needed.

Looking back now, I realize how much effort went into making life feel that way.

My dad grew up in a small town in Oregon, one of four kids. They didn’t have much extra. He’s told me stories about wearing clothes until they were completely worn out, and having one pair of shoes for years until they finally had to be replaced.

He had a paper route when he was young and learned early what it meant to work for what he had. For part of his childhood, their house didn’t have indoor plumbing — there was an outhouse out back — and they didn’t have a television.

He didn’t get many chances to play organized sports as a kid either. When he finally did in high school, he made the most of it. He played football and baseball and became known as a hardworking, gritty player. He was the first freshman to ever start on his high school baseball team.

My dad served four years in the Navy and then spent about 40 years working in a plywood mill. It was hard, physical, blue-collar work. But somehow, after work, he always had more to give.

Years later, when he had kids of his own, sports became one of the ways he showed up for us. He coached nearly every sport we played. He’d get off work, come coach our teams, and then come home and still have time and energy to play with us. When money was especially tight, I remember him working overtime every weekend to make sure the bills got paid.

And he wasn’t only coaching his own kids. Before practices, we’d drive around picking up kids whose parents couldn’t give them a ride. He became a father figure to a lot of them.

He was always positive and encouraging. He’d tell them how well they were doing, how proud he was of them, and how much he loved having them on the team. He had a way of making kids feel important. Even after a long shift, he still seemed to have something left to give someone else.

Years later, when my brother played college football, Dad would sometimes drive two-and-a-half to three hours on a weeknight just to watch him play. He’d stay for the game, drive all the way home, get back around 2:00 in the morning — sometimes later — and then wake up a few hours later and go right back to work at 5:00 or 6:00 in the morning.

That was my dad. He showed up. Every time.

Today, he’s retired. He’s a simple guy. Give him his family, a fishing pole, a campsite, a lake, and somewhere beautiful to explore, and he’s happy.

He has a boat he loves, but the motor currently doesn’t work. And even when everything is working, a fishing trip means gas for the truck, gas for the boat, and all the little expenses that can make someone on a fixed retirement budget stop and think: “Maybe another time.”

That’s the kind of thing I’d love to change. Not mansions. Not sports cars. Not some completely different lifestyle. I’d just love for “maybe another time” to become “let’s go.”

My mom was born into a family of 13 children. When she was very young, she entered foster care, and she spent much of her childhood and high school years living with the woman I grew up knowing as my grandma.

Her foster mom never formally adopted her, but she was a mother to her in every meaningful way. She was an incredible woman who fostered more than 50 children over the years. My mom grew up in a home where caring for kids who needed a safe place was simply part of everyday life.

Years later, she created something remarkably similar in her own way.

My mom spent much of my childhood running a daycare out of our home. And our home was always full of kids. Babies. Toddlers. Elementary-school kids. During the summers, it seemed like there were 10 to 15 kids in our house at any given time.

They woke me up in the mornings. They played with us. They ate with us. They became part of our family.

Looking back, my mom didn’t just babysit those kids. She helped raise them.

Many of those kids are older now — in high school, college, or grown. And they still come back to see her. Their parents still talk about the impact she had on their children and their families. Some of them can’t even talk about it without getting emotional. That tells you everything you need to know about my mom.

My mom grew up needing someone to give her a home. Then she spent much of her adult life making our home a safe, loving place for other people’s children.

She later worked in senior living, caring for another generation of people. And today, she’s still working as a nanny. She’s still taking care of someone else’s family.

My mom loves relaxing, spending time with friends and family, and especially being around her grandkids. When my parents are with their grandkids, they’re completely present. They play with them nonstop. They laugh with them. They spoil them. And you can tell that simply being around them is one of their favorite things in the world.

Growing up, we always had what we needed.

We didn’t take extravagant vacations. We camped. We took road trips. We went to the coast. We played sports. Our house was always full of kids.

We didn’t have new cars or the nicest sporting equipment. There was never a lot of extra.

But I never felt like I was missing anything. My parents somehow made a simple life feel like a really good one.

And honestly, I wouldn’t trade the childhood we had. The camping trips, road trips, sports, crowded house, and time together were some of the best parts of growing up.

Looking back now, I understand more of what was happening behind the scenes. My dad was working extra hours. My mom was caring for a house full of children. They were stretching what they had and making sure the bills got paid.

As a kid, I didn’t fully understand any of that. I just knew that they were there. At practices. At games. At home. At dinner. On camping trips. On road trips. Whenever we needed them.

That is what I remember most.

My dad is retired. My mom is still working. They’ve spent their entire lives being careful with money and thinking before spending it. They don’t spend much on themselves. They’re much more likely to spend money on someone else.

Even now, when I try to help them, they don’t really like accepting it. I’ll pay for plane tickets so they can come visit us, and they’ll try to pay me back. Sometimes I have to hide the money back in their belongings so they can’t give it to me. They’ll even argue with me about paying for dinner. That’s just who they are. They’ve always been more comfortable giving than receiving.

They live in Oregon. We live in Arizona. One of the things I’d love most is for a plane ticket to see their grandkids to feel like a decision about when they want to come, not whether they should spend the money.

I’d love for Dad to fix his boat and go fishing because the weather is beautiful. I’d love for them to finally get the camper they’ve talked about for years but always decided they couldn’t justify. I’d love for them to travel more. Take longer trips. Go camping somewhere new. Visit family. See their grandkids more often.

And I’d love for my mom to have the choice to finally stop working and enjoy retirement alongside my dad.

My parents are not asking for this. They have no idea I’m even thinking about doing it. And honestly, knowing them, if this somehow works, they’ll probably try to give the money back.

I’m doing this because I’ve watched these two people spend their lives giving. Giving their time. Giving their energy. Giving to their kids. Giving to other people’s kids. Giving up weekends. Giving up sleep. Working overtime. Coaching teams. Driving hours to watch games. Caring for children. Caring for seniors. Helping friends. Showing up for family. And very rarely putting themselves first.

They’ve spent their whole lives showing up for everyone else. I just want to see what happens if we show up for them.

The ask is $1. Give more if you want. But $1 is enough. One person. One light.

And maybe, if enough people decide that two good people deserve a little more freedom in the next chapter of their lives, we’ll light all one million.

I don’t picture my parents suddenly living some extravagant life.

I picture Dad finally fixing his boat. I picture him deciding to go fishing because the weather is beautiful instead of wondering whether he should spend the money on gas.

I picture the camper they’ve looked at for years. I picture Mom finally having the choice to stop working. I picture plane tickets to Arizona that don’t require a conversation about what they cost.

I picture more afternoons with their grandkids. More road trips. More camping. More time outside. More memories.

And hopefully a lot fewer sentences that begin with “Maybe someday.”

I’d really love to turn some of those into “Why not now?”