There are plenty of things I respect about Tim.
He's one hell of an engineer.
He's one of the smartest people I've ever worked beside.
He's been my business partner through good years, hard years, stupid decisions, big wins, and more than a few moments when one of us needed the other guy to say: "You're screwing this up."
But none of that is what impresses me most about him.
He shows up.
That sounds simple until you actually watch somebody do it.
Tim works hours that would wear most people out.
There are weeks when the guy might as well have two full-time jobs strapped together.
And then he goes home and starts another shift.
Not occasionally. Not when it's convenient. He makes sure his kids are taken care of.
Games, activities, milestones — his kids don't have to wonder whether Dad is showing up.
Education, environment, opportunity — Tim thinks about what gives his kids a stronger future.
Even when he's tired. Even when work is insane. Even when nobody would blame him for sitting one out.
That's the part people don't always see.
Being a great father isn't the photograph.
It's Tuesday night when you're exhausted.
It's cooking dinner when you'd rather sit down.
It's driving somewhere you don't feel like driving.
It's knowing what's going on in your kid's life.
It's being there often enough that being there isn't an event.
It's just Dad.
Neither of us came from easy.
Tim and I have that much in common.
Neither one of us grew up with a silver spoon and a carefully paved road waiting for us.
We came from working families.
We saw rough environments.
We learned some things the easy way and plenty of things the hard way.
And I think that's part of why Tim is the father he is.
When you know what a difficult environment looks like, you understand the value of creating something different for your own children.
Tim made choices about where his family would live, where his kids would grow up, and what kind of opportunities would surround them.
Some of those choices aren't cheap.
Some aren't convenient.
That's not the point.
The point is that he made them.
I've learned from him too.
Our kids aren't exactly the same ages, so over the years we've talked a lot about being fathers.
I've been able to tell Tim about mistakes I made.
Things I would do differently.
Moments when I should have listened more.
Things you don't really understand until your kids get older and you get the privilege of looking backward.
That's one of the things about our friendship.
We don't just tell each other what we did right.
We tell each other where we screwed up too.
Then hopefully the other guy gets to skip at least one pothole.
That's obviously Capt. language. But that's the point. You'd have to physically stop Tim before he'd willingly stop showing up for those kids.
And yes — they wear him out.
I've joked with the kids before:
"Give your dad a damn breather."
Because I can see it.
The guy gives everything.
And they're getting older now.
They're building lives.
They're pursuing serious educations and serious futures.
Eventually the house gets quieter.
Eventually Dad isn't needed every fifteen minutes.
But whatever those kids become, they'll carry something with them that no school can give them.
That's why I call him the world's most awesome father.
Is that scientific?
Hell no.
I didn't survey every dad on Earth.
It's my opinion.
And I've earned enough years beside the man to have one.
Nobody's perfect.
Tim isn't.
I'm sure his kids could give you a list.
That's family.
But if somebody asked me what an involved father looks like — what commitment looks like, what sacrifice looks like, what simply refusing not to show up looks like —
I don't need a book.
I know a guy.
His name is Tim.