I didn’t realize it when I was younger, but I was lucky to grow up with two dads. They couldn’t have been more different, but each taught me something about strength, love, and perseverance. This is about the man who raised me, my stepdad and the life lessons he left behind.

I was fortunate to have two dads growing up — my biological dad and my stepdad. I lived with my mom most of the time, which meant my stepdad was the one who helped raise me into the person I am today.

He had a tough life. He grew up in Delano, California. When his parents divorced, his brother went with their mom to Oklahoma, and he stayed behind in Delano with his dad. It was just the two of them. They didn’t have much money. His dad, an immigrant from the Philippines, worked long days in the fields. Despite his limited education, he made sure my stepdad understood how important it was to get one.

My stepdad used to tell me stories about playing football in high school. The whole team was made up of Filipino kids, short but strong, who surprised everyone with their toughness. He’d also tell me about picking crops alongside his dad to help make ends meet.

He graduated high school and was accepted into UC Irvine to study Computer Science. But after a year, he couldn’t afford to stay and had to move back home. He transferred to Fresno State and switched to Business since they didn’t have a Computer Science program at the time. I sometimes think about how different his life might have been if he’d been able to finish that CS degree — it was such a valuable field in the ’90s.

He also served in the Marine Corps for thirteen years after high school. His stories — about hard work, sacrifice, and resilience — shaped how I see the world.

He got me into computers. He was a huge nerd — the best kind. He showed me how to troubleshoot and reformat a computer, how to install games, and how to figure things out when they didn’t work. I remember playing Diablo with him — he helped me beat the Butcher. When Diablo II came out, he always played the Assassin. I was always amazed at how far he got in those games, especially since I wasn’t very good back then. I borrowed his copy of StarCraft and later we played World of Warcraft together in a guild called The Holy Hand Grenade.

Those were some of the best times. I still remember the day he bought his first gaming PC — he was so excited that he hugged me. I’ll never forget that.

In 2019, I got to take him to BlizzCon. His health wasn’t great by then, but man, he powered through. We played Diablo IV before it came out, walked through all the exhibits, and had an absolute blast. That memory means the world to me.

For my birthday last year, he bought me Baldur’s Gate 3. I wish we’d gotten to play co-op together, but between my schedule and him not feeling well, it just didn’t happen. Still, we talked about it and he’d send me YouTube videos and trailers. The last thing he ever sent me was the trailer for SISU 2.

He and I had the same taste in movies: Alien, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Monty Python, Evil Dead. He introduced me to Mystery Science Theater 3000 and the old weekend sci-fi marathons — monsters, aliens, snakes, you name it. He loved quoting Evil Dead:

“This is my boomstick! Shop smart. Shop S-Mart.”

We shared so many of those moments — laughing, debating movies, or talking about military history. He was a huge WWII buff. Once, he took me to the Bay Area to see a private collection of working WWII tanks. He also got me into miniature wargaming and Magic: The Gathering.

He passed away this year, and there’s a big hole in my heart. I can’t text him about a new show I’m watching, or talk about a game, or tell him about the projects I’m working on. Even though he’s gone, he’ll always be with me. Every time I play a game, watch a bad movie, or laugh at something absurd, I’ll be thinking of him and I’ll make sure my kids know what kind of man he was.

He worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. Working two jobs, delivering newspapers on weekends, then working overtime at his main job during the week. Just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I wish I could’ve done more to help him in his later years.

Blood doesn’t make someone a father. Showing up does.

I wrote this because I wanted to remember him and reminisce on not just for what he did, but for who he was.
The laughter, the late night games, the movies, the quiet lessons about perseverance all of it lives on in me.
When someone steps into your life and loves you like their own… That’s what family really means.