My daughter is on a mission trip in New York City for a week.

She left early last Tuesday morning and is set to return sometime this week.

Early on Wednesday evening as I was golfing with a friend, I received a message in a group text.

It was from Maya and it was to myself, her mother (my wife, Julie) and her father (Tyrone).

Maya was showing off some contraption she was treating herself to that included ice cream and what appeared to be some form of brownie.

Her father and I took turns giving her a hard time with barbs like “I thought this was a mission trip” and “I see you’re still eating that junk food.”

Her mother, with whom Maya trekked to NYC at the beginning of the year, recognized the establishment at which Maya was treating herself and requested Maya grab her a cookie (or two).

I won’t see Maya on Father’s Day. She’ll still be mission tripping it in NYC.

However, as I was reading back through those texts later Wednesday night, I realized that the fact Maya felt comfortable and probably never thought twice about it - including all three of her parents in a text - together - was pretty much the coolest gift I could get.

•••

I, too, had a father and stepfather growing up.

Like Maya, I lived with my mom and stepdad, but my dad was involved in every part of my life when he could be.

That became infinitely more difficult in 1989 when we moved from Dover to Muscle Shoals, Ala., putting some 670 miles of distance between us.

To retrieve us for our visits, my dad spent countless hours making the drive down I-40 and Highway 72.

Summers.

Christmas break.

Spring break. Sometimes he’d drive down just to spend a night or two.

I hated the long drives, but I loved to take every opportunity I could to return to Oklahoma and visit my family and friends. But with those trips also came a bout of anxiety for me. For a multitude of reasons, my dad and stepdad didn’t get along.

Almost all of that - I’ll get more into it later - fell on my stepdad’s shoulders.

He loved Whitney and I like his own children. He would do - and did - everything in the world for us and made us feel like his own (and later did the same for Kayela, who was his own).

But he also held a large bout of animosity toward our father and as the days grew nearer for our dad to pick us up in Alabama, his mood progressively worsened.

He also made phone calls between my dad and us difficult.

I’m not trying to trash my stepdad; he provided so much for us. Again, more on that later, but it’s just the way it was.

Unfortunately, he refused to speak with my father, so I became a middle man with any kind of communication.

It was absolutely a miserable situation for me growing up and provided more than its share of tears.

There was a lot to love about my life. That was not a part of it.

I vowed then that if I was ever a part of a similar situation as an adult, I would never, ever put a child in the middle of the problems of parents.

•••

I met Julie in July 2009. She had a 6-month-old daughter named Maya and our years-long courtship began.

It wasn’t always easy. Maya’s father wasn’t too fond of me and my presence in his daughter’s life.

I get it. He didn’t know me and I’d have similar reservations if I was in his shoes. I absolutely get it.

For years, we never spoke. He wasn’t warming up to the fact that I was still around and wasn’t keen on my presence at certain events.

Because of what I’d been through, I knew I’d never want Maya to sense any kind of dissension.

So I did miss some birthdays. I missed some games.

I hated it, but it wasn’t about me. It was about Maya.

Somewhere along the way, a switch flipped in Tyrone.

Without divulging more than I have already, he approached me, said some very positive things and our relationship has only gone in an upward direction since.

He’s welcome in my house any time. He’s welcomed me into his home.

He’s ridden with Julie and me to some of Maya’s games and even with Julie and her mother when I’ve had my broadcasting crew with me.

He calls me “Swish” and “Buddy” and we join forces to continually give Julie and Maya a hard time.

I love it and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Literally.

•••

I wouldn’t say my dad and stepdad’s relationship ever got good, but it did improve.

Over time, they became cordial.

They were both at my sister’s wedding in 2004 and then again at mine and Julie’s nuptials in January 2017.

No big deal, you say. That’s the way it should be.

Yes, that’s the way it should be, but in 1993 I would have told you that it never would be that way.

My stepdad was not well at my wedding. He wasn’t well in the months before it and less than six months after it, he was gone.

Cancer. As he worsened, there were multiple hospital visits and stays.

One of those was on the Father’s Day before he passed.

While the rest of the family went to grab a bite to eat, I stayed with him in his room.

We discussed several things. He knew his time was nearing its end and he wanted to make sure that certain things were taken care of when he was gone.

Then came the big one.

Gill apologized to me for what he put me through in regards to my own dad as I grew up.

I didn’t ask for it. We had never discussed it. He knew he was wrong and, although several years later, he told me he was sorry.

I don’t condone what he did. At times, I hated him for it.

But some things I learned about his own life (not from him, but others) also offered some clarity as to why his insecurities were so great that he acted the way he did. (And just to be clear, he never got physical with me, so I’m not talking about any form of abuse.)

I always knew he loved me. I always knew he had trouble processing some other issues and that was the way he handled them.

I hated it and it was never OK, but part of me understood it.

I didn’t think I needed the apology, but I did.

When I got it, the proverbial weight I didn’t realize was still there lifted off my shoulders.

I forgave him. I needed that, too.

So Happy Father’s Day.

Today is about you, dads, but make sure if you’re ever in a similar situation, it’s not about you, but the children.

I’m not trying to tell you how to be a better father or mother.

I’m saying that as the 14-year-old boy who can’t wait for his dad to get there, but is dreading his arrival at the same time.

Make sure your kid can send ALL of you that picture of the ice cream and brownies.

It’s a great feeling…even if they have no idea.