Dudes, I rode to Cincinnati with one of my favorite people this weekend for my son’s soccer tournament.

And somewhere between Kentucky and Ohio, it hit me.

My dad is my hero, and he will always be!

Always has been. The guy goes.

Doesn’t matter if he’s tired. Doesn’t matter if he hurts. Doesn’t matter if he should probably sit down for five damn minutes and relax.

He keeps moving.

And honestly, that’s what made him the man that I admire exponentially.

But it’s also probably what’s wearing him out.

My dad is the epitome of what most men strive to become.

Provider. Worker. Tough. Dependable. Shit, debt-free!

The kind of guy who finishes the job no matter what it costs him physically. He worked on the line crew of a utility company for thirty years. He is tough!

And that sounds admirable because it is admirable.

Until you realize the man is constantly in pain.

Back pain. Joint pain. Stress. Trouble sleeping, walking, standing, hugging, or just existing.

The whole deal.

And like most dads from that generation, he powers through it like suffering is part of the assignment.

Over the last twenty-five years or so, I’ve done some major failing and learned something important.

The ride matters just as much as the arrival.

Maybe more.

Because the ride is where the stories happen, the jokes happen, and the memories happen.

Nobody remembers the random Tuesday you finally crossed something off your list.

They remember the drive. The gas station stops. The stupid conversations. The moments in between.

That’s the magic.

And sometimes I think dads like mine miss that because they’re so focused on finishing.

And honestly?

I wish my dad would try THC.

Not to “get high.”

Not to become Cheech and Chong.

I mean five milligrams. A tiny edible. Relax a little. Sleep better. Hurt less.

Because the stigma around it still blows my mind.

You’ll see these TikToks showing devastating statistics about addiction, overdoses, health problems, and ruined lives.

And at the very end they’ll say:

Meanwhile, moderate medicinal marijuana use has relatively mild side effects for most adults compared to a lot of the stuff already sitting in medicine cabinets.

And yet somehow Grandma taking a gummy still shocks people more than Grandpa being prescribed three pain medications and sleeping in a recliner because his back hurts.

Makes zero sense.

Grandpa. Grandma. Papaw. Mamaw.

We don’t need you proving how tough you are anymore.

You already did that.

We need you:

Pain-free if possible. That’s the version we want.

Slow down enough to enjoy what you already built.

The work mattered.

Now the moments matter too.