Based on reflections about Robin turning 18 and the transformation I'm seeking through Christ.

Robin turned 18 this year—an age that marks a doorway into adulthood, independence, and the beginnings of a life shaped by their own choices.  I know it has been a couple months ago, but happy birthday nonetheless. It’s a milestone I always imagined being present for. But life didn’t unfold the way I thought it would, and I wasn’t there.

Missing that moment hurt. Not because of the gifts or the cheesecake or the candles—but because it symbolized a deeper ache: the ache of knowing I wasn’t physically present in one of the most meaningful transitions of my child’s life.

​But pain, when surrendered to Christ, can become fuel for transformation. And that’s where this story really begins.

When Emma was little, I was a stay-at-home dad. She was my sidekick, my buddy, my Emma. We share a birth month, and every year I looked forward to celebrating together. Those early years are some of my most tender memories.

Now Emma goes by Robin, and they prefer they/them pronouns.

I’ll be honest—my mind is very black-and-white, especially with language. In English, those pronouns don’t always make sense to me. But in Spanish, using third person forms can be a sign of deep respect. So when I refer to Robin as "they" or "them," I do it with the same respect I’d show by saying "usted" in Spanish.

I may not understand everything, but I do understand agency, dignity, and honoring someone’s right to be who they are. And that’s why I respect Robin’s wishes.​

One thing I am genuinely pleased with is Robin’s ability to stand up and let their voice shine. They have a tenacity that I admire—this steady courage to speak what they believe, even when their opinions are unpopular… and even when they are popular, which can sometimes be just as challenging.

Whether my readers understand or agree with their choices isn’t the point. What matters is that Robin shows a strength I didn’t always have at their age. They face a world full of pressure and expectations, yet they still choose to be true to themselves.

​As their dad, I’m deeply pleased to see that spark in them.

I wasn’t there for Robin’s 18th birthday. I wasn’t there to celebrate, to witness, to hear, or to simply be present.

That absence is not something I excuse or brush aside. It’s something I feel. Deeply.

But instead of letting that sorrow turn into self‑pity, I’m letting it turn into fuel—fuel to become a man who adds peace instead of stress, who gives instead of takes, who blesses instead of burdens.

I don’t want to die sad and alone. I want to become the man my children would want in their lives again someday. And that begins with who I choose to become today.

I can’t change the past. I can’t rewrite the moments I missed.

​But I can change who I am becoming.

Missing Robin’s 18th birthday didn’t harden my heart—it softened it.

It made me realize that presence isn’t something you earn by demanding it. It’s something you build by becoming the person whose presence brings peace.

I’m not the man I want to be yet.
But I am becoming.

​I’m surrendering my heart of stone and asking God to replace it with a heart of flesh—one that feels, loves, and gives as He does.

This story isn’t about regret.
It’s about redemption.
It’s about the long road back to becoming the man God created me to be.
It’s about honoring my child’s courage and growing into the father I hope they will one day see again—not as the man I was, but as the man I am becoming.


Robin does not have a restraining order against me, so I hope they won’t mind me writing this directly to them. For what it’s worth, I do love you, Robin, and I am genuinely pleased with all you do. You are amazing. And although this post may seem like it’s too much about me and my journey, I want this last part to speak directly to you.

You are incredible. You care deeply about others—especially your siblings. You create some of the most creative clothing, handmade pieces, and crocheted stuffed animal (I still can’t spell it right!) thingamabobs I’ve ever seen. Your talent, your heart, and your individuality inspire me.

Thank you for being you. I hope this post reaches you someday and that you know I think about you more often than you realize.



Gratefully,


Scott Alan Westhoff
Create A Great Day.

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