I have had a good Father’s Day. I got a nice present from my daughter. My wife made an amazing breakfast for me. Later today, my father-in-law will come by for a visit. All in all, pretty good.

Sure, I have a new case of pink eye, but I can handle that. After all, it’s not always easy being a Dad.

I learned that from the master, my father, who died in 1996. I’ve now celebrated 16 Father’s Days without him. The first few sucked because we did not yet have a child to distract us, but things seem to get a little more natural each year.

I don’t dwell too much on life without my parents – Mom died in 2006. They made me who I am, and I never saw them moaning about not having their parents around so I chose that path of coping. But the reality is, I miss them terribly, especially Dad since he never met my daughter.

Around Father’s Day each year, the Maryland Bar Foundation gives away an award in my Dad’s name. A former president of the Maryland State Bar Association, he made a significant impact in the area of professionalism and public service. Each year, a young lawyer who personifies those ideals wins what our family colloquially calls “The Pop Award.”

I like knowing that someone outside of our family has their professional life impacted by my father’s legacy. I know he made a huge impact on my career even though he never really realized it.

When Dad died, I had just made the switch from sports to news coverage at the newspaper. The hours and weekend schedule made it easier for my wife and I, who were married less than six months earlier. I had the skills for either department and wanted a more predictable schedule.

What I didn’t expect – and why I don’t know – is that I would end up covering some share of death around this time. Fresh off the first death to really impact me, the one that naturally hits the hardest, I struggled with this part of the job.

People told me they liked the stories I wrote, which made me feel a little better, but it didn’t make tackling the subject any easier. I don’t object to covering bad news in the paper, I just want someone else to do it.

That’s when I realized that the reason I had so much trouble is that I could not separate the grief I felt for my loss with what other people were going through. I didn’t want to write the stories because I knew they needed time to process their feelings because I needed to process my feelings. I couldn’t properly tell their story if I wanted to tell mine through them.

I moved back into sports after about a year and felt much better. Dad always gave me a love of sports so I could channel my feelings that way. I knew that in news, I would subconsciously make the story about my feelings, which is something that just wouldn’t work. You can’t write a story well if you’re hoping that people will give you a hug when they really should be focused on the feelings of the subject.

Even though I don’t cover the news anymore, I take these lessons with me. In a roundabout way, this made me realize that I can’t make my job about me. I have to make it about the people I deal with. Otherwise, I’m just trying to project my feelings on them instead of telling their story, whether it’s the tale of someone who died too soon, how the team won a championship or why someone’s academic work matters, the thing I do most often now.

So, thanks, Dad, for making me realize that to communicate, I need to shine the spotlight away from me. Of course, that rule gets suspended when I do something stupid. Then I’m more than happy to make it all about me.