Lessons From a Lifelong New York Jets Fan

There is a quiet stretch between Christmas and New Year when life finally slows enough for reflection. The rush fades. The noise settles. And the questions we’ve been avoiding have a way of finding us.

As 2026 begins, it doesn’t feel loud or celebratory. It feels honest. Like time isn’t just flipping a calendar, but asking us to pay attention.

I wear many hats—father, teacher, coach. Each one matters. Each one carries responsibility. But this year isn’t just asking how I’m doing in those roles. It’s asking how I’m doing as a person.

As a father of two daughters, that question hits hard. One of them, Mckenna, will graduate high school this year. Writing that brings pride and gratitude, but also a realization many parents quietly share: childhood doesn’t pause. Moments don’t wait. Time moves faster than we expect.

Somewhere between school drop-offs, practices, games, family trips, and daily routines, years passed in what feels like a blink.

As a teacher and a coach, I spend my days encouraging young people to stay resilient, trust the process, and understand that growth takes time. I remind them that effort matters and failure teaches.

But as a dad, the questions are different and quieter:

Am I present?

Am I making enough time?

Am I taking care of myself so I can take care of them?

Many parents feel this same tension. The real weight isn’t being busy it’s the feeling that time is moving faster than our ability to keep up. We feel it when our kids grow, when years blur together, and when rest becomes optional.

Strangely enough, some of this perspective comes from being a lifelong New York Jets fan. Years of patience, disappointment, and loyalty teach you one thing quickly: waiting for “next season” doesn’t work in real life.

You don’t get rebuild years with your kids. You don’t get do-overs. Life doesn’t reset at halftime.

Mental health in 2026 isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about noticing what we’ve been ignoring- the exhaustion, the tension, and the quiet fear of missing what matters most. If you’re starting this year feeling reflective or stretched thin, you’re not alone. These questions don’t mean you’re failing. They mean you care. And caring is where real mental health begins.

As a dad, this year is a reminder that my most important role shows up in the small moments being present, listening without rushing, and choosing time over distractions.

Life doesn’t always give us winning seasons. Some years are about rebuilding. Some are about patience. Some are about simply showing up even when things feel unfinished. So here’s to showing up for our kids, for ourselves, and for the moments we don’t get back.

And yes, here’s to another year of believing in the New York Jets because hope, even when tested, is still worth holding onto.

Coach Fish