The sound that sticks with me most from the past year isn’t a crowd or a snap count. It’s my son’s laugh as he tears around the couch in our living room, waiting for me to chase him.
Luke doesn’t walk anywhere. He sprints.
Which means I’m always in motion, too. I didn’t know becoming a dad would flip my world upside down, but the moment I found out, everything shifted.
I still remember that call. It was my birthday, and my fiancée was crying on FaceTime, saying she was driving to my house. That was how I learned I’d be a dad.
At first, it felt unreal. Then it hit fast. I wasn’t just playing ball or going to class anymore. I had someone who’d look up to me for the rest of his life.
I needed to be locked in, focused, ready.
And when he was born — September 6 — at the start of the season I missed with an injury, I felt that shift even more.
Looking back, the timing was hard, but it also saved me.
My story starts long before fatherhood. It begins in Denton, where I’ve lived my whole life.
My parents both work for the school district — my mom teaches elementary school, and my dad handles maintenance — and my sister, our dog, and I grew up in a couple of houses around the city.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was steady. Everything I needed was there.
Football found me early. Being a big kid meant I was stuck on the line from day one. No skill positions. No experimenting. Just mashing people.
I loved it.
At Guyer High School, things clicked even more. I started varsity as a sophomore, survived a rough season, and then played on teams that made deep playoff runs. Twice we were right there at the end, and twice we came up short.
Those years set a standard for winning that stuck with me.
My O-line coach, Fred Norris, also played a huge part in who I became. His energy, his expectations, the way he pushed us — I still talk to him all the time.
He’s one of those coaches who stays in your life, not just your seasons.
When it came time to pick a college, COVID-19 created some new challenges.
The pandemic hit right in the middle of my recruitment, and suddenly, all visits went virtual. You try picking your path without ever setting foot on most of the campuses recruiting you. It was tough.
UNT was different. I got to see it — barely — but it was familiar. Close to home. And the O-line coach there had recruited me years earlier when he was at a different school.
That meant something. It made me feel wanted.
I chose UNT because it was a place I could play early, and because in a world full of unknowns, Denton felt steady.
My freshman year, though, was an education in struggle. We started 1–5 before rallying to finish 6–6. And fall camp? I’ll say this: nothing in high school prepares you for that — two weeks of pushing yourself harder than ever before.
But being able to go home every night, just fifteen minutes from campus, kept me grounded.
My junior year ended two games early when I tore my ACL. I’d never had a major injury. That one stopped everything.
Surgery came a couple of weeks later, then the long months of rehab. The early part was brutal. I could barely move. My fiancée basically had to take care of both of us.
But by the time Luke was born, I could walk, help out, carry him, and be there in real ways. And honestly, he kept me out of the darkest parts of injury rehab.
Instead of sitting around feeling separated from the team, I spent hours with him. When I wasn’t in the training room, I was on the floor next to him.
I missed the whole season, and the portal crossed my mind. I even entered it. I wanted to explore if there were any better financial options for Luke. But the truth was simple: there wasn’t a big market for an O-lineman who hadn’t played in a year and was coming off ACL surgery.
UNT’s coaches told me I always had a spot if I needed one. And our families are both in Denton. The help we have here matters. Leaving would’ve meant taking my fiancée and Luke somewhere completely new, with no support. I couldn’t do that.
So I came back. One more year. One more chance to finish the right way.
This season has felt almost unreal. Most years here were battles just to reach .500.
Now people are mentioning playoffs. Playoffs. I never imagined hearing that during my time at North Texas.
I feel grateful I get to experience this, especially now, in a year when everything means more.
I’m calmer before games these days. More confident. I don’t overthink like I did when I was younger. Maybe that comes from being a dad. When you’re chasing a toddler around the house, a third-down blitz pickup doesn’t feel quite as stressful.
Senior Day is coming, and I know the emotions will hit.
I’ll think about the ACL, the rehab, the months on the sideline, the late nights with Luke, the decision to stay home. But mostly, I’ll be ready to play. Ready to win. Ready to finish what I started.
After the season, I’ll do Pro Day and see where football takes me. I’m not putting everything on the NFL. I’m set to graduate in December with a master’s degree in intermediate studies with a focus in healthcare. I want a career that supports my family. That’s the goal.
As for Luke, I just want to be the kind of dad who lets him choose his own path. If he wants to play football, I’ll be there, coaching him up. If he doesn’t, that’s fine too. It’s his life.
For now, he’s still the kid who wants to run circles around the couch, laughing as I chase him. And I’ll chase him every time — just like I chased this last season at North Texas.
