YET HE OPENED NOT HIS LIPS

When I was a boy,

I used to wonder why my father came home late some nights ,

He was very quiet, very heavy, sometimes in spirits, distant.

No smile.

No stories.

Just silence…

And the sound of weary footsteps faded down the hallway, to bed.

I could hear some whispers of hope from mommy saying,

" All shall be well my son, go for it"

Something needed to be done,

Whether immediately, or progressively,

Diplomacy just failed, there was a reality that couldn't be solved by diplomats,

Hard work was mandatory...

Back then, I thought he was just tired,

That he prioritized sleep rather than meals,

But now I know better -

He was fighting battles too heavy to name.

He was broke… but couldn’t cry.

He was sick… but couldn’t stop.

He was overwhelmed… but couldn’t show it.

Because men - fathers - don’t get the luxury of falling apart.

The world is brutal to men.

You either produce or perish.

No break.

No mercy.

No soft landing - just relentless expectations:

Provide. Protect. Lead.

Even when your back is breaking and your soul is worn thin.

Now that I’m grown, I finally see it.

Clearly.

I understand the pain he never spoke of.

The hunger he endured so we could eat.

The dreams he let die so ours could live.

The tears he swallowed so we’d feel safe.

To every man out there grinding in silence - I see you.

To every father who sacrifices his health, his sleep, his peace for his family - you are a king.

To the men who died before they could see their children thrive - your legacy lives on.

This is for the unsung heroes.

The men with cracked hands, bleeding hearts, and unshakable spirits.

You are not forgotten.

You are not weak.

You are not invisible.

You are the reason families stay standing.

God bless our fathers.

God strengthen our sons.

And may we - as men - carry this legacy with honor.

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OUT HERE

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