Family changes everything. It changes how you see the world, how you carry responsibility, and how you understand your place in something bigger than yourself.
There were no silver spoons in my childhood. I am the oldest of seven children, practically a community in itself. My mother’s mother also came from a home with seven kids, so large families weren’t just familiar, they were foundational. Our household ran in a way that might feel militant to some: structured, strict, and demanding, but always rooted in love. You learned quickly that your actions affected others, that resources were shared, and that no one came first all the time.
I was an altar boy, wearing Payless shoes while my friends wore Jordans. I didn’t have everything my friends had, but I always had what I needed. In a house full of kids, resources had to stretch, and we understood that early. I remember my mom bringing in groceries, and like a beehive, the kitchen would instantly swarm, bags opened, food unpacked, portions claimed, and meals planned almost before everything hit the shelves. Those groceries weren’t extras; they were the week ahead. What stayed with me wasn’t what we lacked, but what we learned, how to share, how to wait our turn, and how to respect what we had because it mattered. It taught me that wanting something doesn’t make it necessary, that instant gratification rarely satisfies, and that life has a way of giving you exactly what you need, often in the lessons rather than the things.
I was fortunate to grow up in two very different environments. With my mother and stepfather, there was a house full of children, noise, responsibility, and constant motion. With my father and his partner, there was quiet, conversation, and space to think. Moving between those worlds and moving across the country gave me a perspective most people don’t gain until much later in life. New schools. New friends. New communities. Each move taught me how to adapt, how to listen, and how to respect differences without losing myself.
One thing I know about myself is this: I’ve lived. Fully. Honestly.
I married young, too young. I had my first daughter. I got divorced. I was granted primary custody of my child, and from that moment on, life wasn’t about me anymore. It was about providing stability, safety, and a love beyond measure. I later remarried and had two more daughters. Family expanded. Responsibilities deepened.
When my father passed away when I was 25, it was the single most devastating day of my life. I wish I could say time heals those wounds, but it doesn’t. It teaches you how to carry them, not how to erase them. Losing him changed me in ways I’m still discovering. It forced me to grow up fast, to become the steady presence I once leaned on.
Now, I find myself standing in a new chapter, one I never take for granted. My grandparents are all gone. My family has faded on one side and grown on the other. I am now Papa to seven beautiful, intelligent, amazing grandchildren. I have ten nieces and four nephews. Sometimes the weight of that legacy is hard to fully grasp. This incredible river that started with my parents continues to flow, branching into lives I get to watch unfold. It’s a gift beyond anything I could have imagined.
Having a family of my own taught me what responsibility truly means. It means doing whatever it takes. Working multiple jobs. Making sacrifices. Choosing long-term stability over short-term comfort. Putting others first, even when it’s hard, inconvenient, or exhausting.
That lesson, learning to put others before myself, was planted early and reinforced through every stage of life. It’s the same principle that drives my desire to serve my community. A healthy community functions like a family: people show up, share responsibility, and care about the well-being of others.
Family changed everything for me. It gave me perspective. It grounded me in responsibility. And it taught me that the greatest measure of a life well-lived is what you contribute to those around you.
Next time, I’ll share about the mistakes I’ve made and what they’ve taught me.