When I was in junior high and high school, I couldn’t wait to be done with that school and be a year older. As a parent of a junior high and middle school student, I want time to stand still. But that won’t happen.

Addison has finished her first year of junior high and will now be one year closer to high school. She’s now in - gulp - eighth grade. I may or may not be crying as I type this. Her brother Jackson has finally left the elementary ranks and will start middle school as a fourth-grader. His mom is beside herself.

Since Addison’s fourth-grade school year, I’ve come to realize that I’m sad when the school year ends. I’m sad because that’s one more year that’s passed (and did I do enough with my kids that year?), and it means I have no reason to pen my #DadLunchNotes to slip in her book bag.

However, once the first day of summer vacation starts, my sadness transforms into annoyance because my kids are “bored” and “have nothing to do” all day. Year-round school, anyone?

I can’t believe I’ve been writing these notes for four years. No, I haven’t had perfect attendance, but 700 notes later, I’ve learned more about myself than I anticipated… I know Addison has learned something, but, you know, it’s not cool for a 12-year-old to tell her dad that. (Insert annoyed emoji here)

When I began writing what would become #DadLunchNotes, August 2017 and Addison began her fourth school in five years. I was six months into a new job after enduring the loss of a job in a career that I thought would be my life forever. I hadn’t finished processing what happened in 2016 when I needed to do something for my daughter, who needed her dad.

Writing daily messages turned into a form of therapy for me. It didn’t replace the need for me to see an actual therapist, but it did help me begin the process of forgiving myself.

As each year passed, I’ve gotten a little bit better. 

Once I finished my Ph.D. and became “Dr. Yandle,” or as Addison reminds people - my daddy is a doctor, but not the kind that helps people - I still wasn’t quite at a point where I could fully forgive myself.

It took a pandemic for me to realize what I have is enough, and that career I once had is gone...and it was time to finish my grieving. Not only did I finally say goodbye to the self-inflicted burden of a former career, but I was also one of the few people lucky enough to change jobs during a pandemic.

I think for the first time, I began to accept myself for who I was. All of us were enduring the same trauma but on varying levels.

My kids taught me that they don’t care what my job is as long as I’m there for them. Addison still thought I worked in sports. She had no idea I was working in higher education again. And that’s OK because it proves that my job doesn’t matter to them.

I learned - FINALLY - that my career is not my identity. There may be people that don’t like me for me, but there are three people (and a dog) at home who love me no matter what.

Nearly six months into 2021, Addison and I have had the opportunity to do a handful of national TV interviews, and she’s always asked what note she would write me. Her answer hasn’t wavered: “Keep your head up and keep going.”

That’s good advice, Add.