#15: Nobody Warned Me About the Last Time.

I had an idea.

The more I thought about that idea, the more it became a dream. And this past week, for the third and final time, I got to watch that dream become a reality.

Several years ago, I decided I wanted to create a special tradition for each of our kids as they approached the end of junior high. One trip. Just the three of us. My wife, our child, and me. But here's what made it different. They would plan it.

The destination. The activities. The experiences. Whatever reflected their personality, interests, and passions. We had three rules: stay in the United States, keep it under a week, and stay within the budget. Everything else was up to them.

In 2022, Avery planned "The Adventure of a Lifetime." Disney World in Orlando, followed by a Coldplay concert in Tampa.

In 2024, Boston planned "The Boston Three Party." Two Celtics games, two Red Sox games, and his dream seats, front row on top of the Green Monster at Fenway Park.

And two weeks ago, Harper's "The Magic & Mars Tour" became a reality. Los Angeles. Bruno Mars. Disneyland. Universal Studios. Sephora. More churros than any three people should reasonably consume. And a whole lot of laughter.

Three kids. Three completely different personalities. Three unforgettable adventures.

And now, it's over.

This was the last one.

Not our last vacation or our last adventure together. But the last eighth-grade trip. The last time we'd sit down with one of our kids and give them the opportunity to dream up an adventure all their own.

And I wasn't prepared for how much that would hurt.

Because I remember when they were little. When the house was loud, the days were long, and it seemed like somebody always needed something. Back then, I thought we had all the time in the world.

And then, somehow, without asking our permission, time started moving faster.

Avery is in college. Boston is in high school. And Harper, our baby, just turned fourteen.

Fourteen.

There's something about your youngest reaching these milestones that feels different. With your first, everything is new. With your second, you begin to understand how quickly it goes. But with your last, you start recognizing the endings.

The last first day of kindergarten. The last bedtime story. The last time you pick them up and carry them to bed. Most of those moments happen without warning. You don't realize they're the last until long after they're gone.

But this one was different.

For once, I knew I was living through a last while it was actually happening.

And somewhere between Disneyland and Bruno Mars, I found myself watching Harper laugh and experience the trip she'd spent months dreaming about, realizing I was watching another chapter of my life come to an end.

That's the strange thing about parenting. You're raising your children to become independent, discover who they are, and eventually need you less.

And then they do.

And you're proud. Incredibly proud. But somewhere underneath that pride is a quiet ache for the little people they used to be.

Not because you don't love who they're becoming.

But because you loved who they were, too.

And you don't get to go back.

When I started this tradition, I thought I was giving my kids something they'd remember for the rest of their lives. What I didn't realize was that they were giving me exactly the same thing.

So here's my encouragement. Don't wait until something becomes a memory to recognize that it's a moment worth making. Take the trip. Start the tradition. Make the time. Because someday, the calendar will look different, the house will be quieter, and the opportunities you thought would always be there won't be.

Being a dad is awesome. Being Avery's, Boston's, and Harper's dad is the greatest privilege of my life.

And while I'm excited about every adventure still ahead of us, there's a part of me that wishes I could sit at that kitchen table one more time, with three little kids and a lifetime of possibilities still in front of us.

Celebrate the launch. Don't mourn the loss.

I'm trying.

But man, sometimes it hurts.

Keep the fire burning. 🔥