Fifteen.

Fifteen.

How the hell did we get here?

Fifteen years ago today, two squishy little science experiments wrapped in pink and blue blankets (Thank you, Lindsay Beck and Joyce Reinecke) came into the world and made me a father. Not just a guy with kids—but a Dad. Capital D. The full catastrophe. And I wouldn't trade a second of it.

If you're reading this, there's a good chance you've been on the ride with me. You've seen the photos (mostly on my IG). Heard the stories. Laughed at the chaos. Maybe even said, "Wait… they're still not on social media?" Correct. Because these two saw through the Matrix early. They knew the dopamine casino wasn't worth their attention.

They're 80s kids in Gen Z skin. No Wii. No PlayStation. No TikTok. But crank up "Mr. Brownstone" or "Cruel Summer," and they know every damn word. They know the album. They know what a record is. Billy Joel isn't "dad music" to them. It's just music. Good music. Soulful, smart, timeless. Like them.

They are, each in their own way, uncannily wise. Weirdly self-possessed. Honest. Decent. Curious. Creative. Funny as hell. They're not trying to go viral—they're trying to understand the world. And each other.

Twins are a strange magic. They're opposite and alike. Yin and yang. Peanut butter and jelly. Sherlock and Watson. And yet, somehow, both Sherlock. And both Watson. It's wild to watch.

Fifteen years in, I'm still in awe. Of who they are. Of who they're becoming. Of the miracle that made them possible in the first place.

You hear people say, "It goes by fast." And you nod. And then it happens. And one day you're standing in the kitchen making breakfast, and your kid strolls in and quotes Goonies, sings a perfect Freddie Mercury harmony, or hits you with a philosophical question about the human condition that makes you forget how to chew.

Fifteen. A blink and a lifetime.

Koby and Hannah — You are the greatest thing I've ever helped make. Mommy and I are so proud of you. All day. Every day. You're the proof that life and love find a way and that meaning doesn't have to be found—it can be raised.

Keep being weird and wonderful.

I'm just the lucky derp with a front-row seat.

Now go do the dishes.