08/21/2026
Some mornings, the memories hit a little harder.
I woke up today feeling nostalgic and missing my dad—the man who first put a brush in my hand and started me on this journey so many years ago. Looking at these pictures, I see more than two painters or two supervisors standing beside their trucks. I see a story being passed from father to son.
Before the titles, the trucks, the contracts, or the companies, there was simply a father teaching his son how to work—how to take pride in a craft, how to provide for a family, passion, dedication, how to be a man of integrity, professionalism, and how to build something through sacrifice, perseverance, and faith.
I didn’t fully understand it then, as I do now.
Much of who I am, how I work, and what I am building today with my son began with him (and my grandfather before him… but that’s a story for a different time). The greatest inheritance he gave me wasn’t a business or a trade—it was an example of a Godly man who loved Jesus, his family, and his neighbor. It was history written through long days, tired hands, hard lessons, and a lifetime of showing up.
I woke up a little sad today…but mostly grateful. Grateful for the memories. Grateful for the lessons. Grateful that, by God’s grace, his story continues through me—and now through my sons.
What a history.
What a story.
What an inheritance.
I love you and miss you, Pops. Thank you for starting me in all of this. ❤️
