Ruffled Feathers Parrot Sanctuary Inc.
Where Hope Takes Flight
I’ve been going through old photos today, and it’s funny how pictures can bring back more than a memory. They bring back a whole feeling. A whole season of life, along with the lessons from my father that shaped who I am.
This is a birthday post for my dad, retired Lieutenant Colonel Ron Harmon, Ohio Air National Guard, 123rd Wing. But it’s also a thank you note. Because when I look at these pictures now, I don’t just see places and faces. I see the lessons that built me.
I’m reversing the story on purpose. We usually start at the beginning. Today I want to start with what he gave me as I grew, then walk back to where it all started.
This picture says a lot without saying anything. Dad showed me discipline. Pride. Steady leadership. The kind that doesn’t need to be announced. It’s just there in how you carry yourself, how you handle pressure, and how you treat people. He showed me what it means to carry responsibility without needing applause. Looking back now, these were some of the first lessons from my father that stayed with me.
The ball games weren’t really about the score.
They were about the noise, the crowd, the laughs, and the simple joy of being there together. They were about tradition, and the feeling that for a few hours, everything else could wait.
He taught me something I didn’t understand until I got older. Time together is never extra. It’s the whole point. At the time, I did not realize these were quiet lessons from my father, but they shaped how I value people today.
Camping and fishing with Dad had a rhythm. Early mornings. Long drives. Quiet water. And that calm that settles in when you’re away from everything.
He didn’t have to say much, because the lesson was in the time spent.
I learned patience out there. I learned how to be steady. I learned how to be okay in silence. I learned that being a man isn’t about being the loudest voice. It’s about being the dependable one. These moments became some of the most important lessons from my father, even though they were never spoken out loud.
This is one of those photos that reminds me how he did things. He didn’t half do memories.
He didn’t just take us somewhere. He made it count. He made it feel like an event. Like time mattered, because it does. This is where the deeper lessons from my father started to show themselves.
And looking back now, I realize the real gift wasn’t Disney or the destination. The gift was him being there. Present. Engaged. In the moment.
This is the kind of picture people scroll past, but it’s the kind that stays with me.
Just you and me. No big production. No big speech. Just time.
He taught me that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s steady. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s just showing up and being there, again and again, until it becomes part of who you are.
Dad took me places. Real places. The kind that make you realize the world is bigger than your zip code and bigger than your problems.
Standing next to something like this, you can’t help but feel small, but in a good way. Like, okay. Breathe. Keep going. There’s more out there.
Those trips didn’t just show me scenery. They showed me perspective.
He taught me the world is big, life is short, and you don’t wait around to start living.
This picture makes me laugh, because it’s a whole era in one frame.
But what it really reminds me of is this. He didn’t raise me to be scared of the world. He raised me to respect it.
He taught me to pay attention. To be careful. To think first. To understand that confidence isn’t recklessness. Confidence is competence. It’s knowing what you’re doing, and owning the responsibility that comes with it.
Look at this picture. Buckets stacked up, work done, and he still making time to hold his kid.
He taught me hard work isn’t something you talk about. It’s something you do. With your hands, your back, your time, and your word.
He taught me that pride doesn’t come from what you say you’ll do. It comes from what you finish.
And he taught me something people don’t say enough anymore. Your word matters. Because once you give it, it belongs to the other person. Those days taught me some of the strongest lessons from my father about work, pride, and keeping your word.
This is one of those pictures that reminds me what steady looks like.
Not loud. Not flashy. Just present. Just solid.
Dad, thank you.
Thank you for the trips around the world and back again. Thank you for the ball games. Thank you for camping and fishing. Thank you for the military adventures and the example you set.
Most of all, thank you for teaching me how to be a man. To stand up when it matters. To protect what you love. To keep going. To do right even when it’s not easy.
Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you. I’m proud to be your son.
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