Ever since I can remember, my father was a walker. He walked with us on his shoulders and a leash in his hand. On his own, he walked for over an hour most days. My friends’ parents would often say to me, “I saw your dad out walking in his fur hat.” As a teenager, I don’t remember ever joining him for one of these long walks, I would have seen no value in that at the time. Now that I am in my forties I wonder what those walks would have been like or what it would mean to go fo

When most of us hear the word legacy, we think about the end of life, what we leave behind, and how we will be remembered. But legacy isn’t something you create later, it is something you’re building quietly every ordinary day. For fathers, legacy often shows up less in big achievements and more in patterns: how you show up when you’re tired, how you repair after mistakes, how you take care of yourself while taking care of others.