A few weeks ago, my father passed away.
As Father's Day approaches, it feels different this year. The advertisements, gift guides, and reminders are all still there, but underneath them is something much quieter—a deeper reflection on what it means to be a father, to have a father, and to watch the passage of time transform both.
For much of our childhood, fathers seem larger than life.
They are the ones who carry us on their shoulders, teach us how to ride a bike, fix what is broken, and somehow always appear to have the answers. We see them as strong, capable, and unwavering. In our young eyes, they are heroes.
Then life moves forward.
As we grow older, we begin to see them differently. We start to recognize that fathers are not superheroes at all. They are human beings. They make mistakes. They carry wounds we know nothing about. They say things they wish they could take back. They love imperfectly. They fail at times. We begin to understand that the people we once idolized are simply doing the best they can with what they have been given.
Sometimes that realization creates distance.
Sometimes it creates understanding.
And if we are fortunate, it eventually creates compassion.
The final chapter is perhaps the most profound.
There comes a time when the roles begin to reverse. The man who once carried you now needs help standing. The person who taught you how to navigate life begins to lose his own way. You find yourself caring for the one who once cared for you.
Watching my father decline was heartbreaking. The man who had seemed bigger than life slowly became smaller as his body failed him and his mind began to fade. There is a particular grief in witnessing strength disappear. It forces you to confront something none of us can escape—that time comes for all of us.
Yet somewhere in that difficult journey, I gained a gift I didn't expect.
I began to see my father more clearly than ever before.
Not as the hero of my childhood.
Not as the flawed man of my adulthood.
But simply as a person.
A little boy who grew up, carried responsibilities, made mistakes, worried about providing for his family, and tried, in his own way, to do the best he could with the life he was given.
The older I get, the more I realize that love is not always expressed in the ways we wish it would be.
Sometimes love looks like tenderness.
Sometimes it looks like sacrifice.
Sometimes it shows up as strictness, expectations, hard work, and long hours. It may not always be easy to recognize in the moment, but looking back, I can see that love was never really in question.
It was simply expressed through the imperfect language of a human being trying his best.
Losing my father has also reminded me of something else.
In the end, everything matters.
The adventures.
The conversations.
The time spent together.
The stories.
The traditions.
The memories we create.
The things we accumulate are rarely what we cherish most. What remains are the moments. The shared experiences. The people we love.
As a family business, Father's Day carries special meaning for us this year.
True West Hats has always been about more than hats. It has been about stories, craftsmanship, adventure, and creating things that last. We often talk about heirlooms, but the truth is that the most valuable heirlooms are not objects at all. They are memories passed from one generation to the next.
A custom hat can become part of that story. It can travel through decades of adventures and eventually find its way into the hands of a child or grandchild. But what makes it meaningful is never the hat itself.
It is the experience.
It is the trip to Sedona.
The afternoon spent together.
The laughter.
The conversations.
The memory of creating something side by side.
This Father's Day, I find myself wanting less sorrow and more joy.
Less focus on what was lost and more gratitude for what was given.
More appreciation for the messy, beautiful, imperfect journey of being a family.
And more understanding that none of us are really looking for perfection. We are simply looking for connection.
As I have reflected on my father's life and passing, I've also found myself thinking about my own journey through parenthood and the privilege of watching another father write his story in real time.
One of the gifts of getting older is that you begin to see the generations at once. You look back with greater understanding at the parents who raised you, while at the same time watching your own children grow and form memories that will one day shape them.
I see that every day in my husband, Charlie.
Our daughters are growing up with a father whose love is not measured by words alone, but by his constant presence, dedication, and unwavering commitment to our family. He is the rock we lean on, the steady force that keeps moving forward no matter how much is on his shoulders.
As the hat maker behind True West Hats, most people see the finished product. What they don't always see are the countless hours behind the scenes. They don't see the early mornings that begin before the rest of us are awake. They don't see him designing hats, building displays, creating fixtures, finishing details, solving problems, and somehow turning ideas into reality.
Over the past year, I've watched him help bring our new store to life. From designing spaces and building displays to making hats late into the evening, his creativity seems to have no limits. Builder, designer, craftsman, problem solver, artist—he wears all of these hats, often in the same day.
And yet what I admire most isn't his talent.
It's his priorities.
No matter how much work there is to do, no matter how long the to-do list grows, his family remains at the center of everything. He is the father making dinner after a long day. The one showing up for conversations, adventures, and quiet moments. The one who reminds our girls through his actions that they are deeply loved.
Watching him with our daughters gives me hope.
Hope that each generation can grow a little more expressive, a little more aware, a little more willing to share love openly. Hope that the lessons passed down from one generation to the next continue to evolve while still honoring the values that matter most—hard work, integrity, commitment, and love.
As I say goodbye to one father this year, I find myself profoundly grateful for another.
Grateful that our daughters get to watch a man who creates beautiful things with his hands, works tirelessly for his family, and still makes time for what matters most.
I also find myself thinking about my brother and the father he has become. Watching his journey over the years has given me a deep appreciation for a generation of fathers who chose to be more present, more available, and more engaged in the everyday moments of family life.
Perhaps that is how family stories continue.
One generation teaching the next.
One father shaping the lives of his children.
One act of love at a time.
So this Father's Day, whether your father is still beside you, far away, or only present now through memories, I hope you take a moment to honor the role he played in your story.
Not because he was perfect.
But because he was human.
And because love, even when imperfectly expressed, leaves a mark that lasts a lifetime.
Happy Father's Day.
— April Selman
Co-Founder, True West Hats
