Eighteen years ago today, you were born. It feels impossible to even write that sentence. In my mind, I can still see you as that little boy running through the house, laughing at things only kids find funny, carrying toys in your hands, and excitement in your eyes. Yet here you are, eighteen years old, graduating from high school and stepping into adulthood. Somewhere between those first cries in the hospital and this moment, time quietly slipped past all of us.
The truth is, I knew you even before you entered this world. I was there long before your first breath. I was often the one taking your mom to her doctor appointments. I remember sitting in those waiting rooms and hearing your heartbeat for the first time. I remember the ultrasound when we found out you were going to be a boy. Your grandma and I were there through all the emotions, the excitement, the uncertainty, the fear, and the hope. There were moments when your mom felt overwhelmed and alone, and I imagine that even tucked away inside her, you probably felt some of those emotions too. Families carry things together long before they realize they are doing it.
And your grandma and I have been there ever since.
You were my buddy growing up. That is one of the greatest gifts you ever gave me. We drove trains together, traveled to Disney World more than once, fished, played games, watched our Tampa Bay Rays, and collected memories that now feel stitched together like scenes from an old movie. There were the little gifts too, the “Best Grandpa” shirts and trinkets that probably seemed simple to you at the time, but meant more to me than you could have understood. Those things were reminders that I mattered to you, just as you have always mattered to me.
It has been a nostalgic journey for all of us. Most of it is filled with joy, laughter, birthdays, holidays, vacations, and ordinary moments that somehow become sacred once enough time passes. But there were hard moments too. Scares, doctor visits, disappointments, stress, uncertainty. That is life. No family escapes those things. Yet here you are. Strong, capable, intelligent, funny, and standing on the edge of adulthood.
I remember what it felt like to become an adult myself. People talk about turning eighteen like some magical transformation happens overnight, but mostly I remember feeling the weight of the question: What do I do now? That question can feel exciting and terrifying at the same time.
As your grandpa, my desire is not to control the man you become. I do not need you to follow some exact path to make me proud. I am not concerned whether you go to college, trade school, into business, or directly into work. My hope is simply that you move. Keep moving. Action matters. Motion matters. Life rarely rewards people who sit still waiting to feel perfectly ready.
You cannot discover opportunities unless you move toward them. You cannot build a career unless you apply, risk rejection, fail sometimes, and keep going. You cannot find great love unless you are willing to risk vulnerability and put yourself out there. None of that begins with confidence. That is the great secret nobody tells young people. Almost nobody feels confident in the beginning. Most of us are simply moving while scared.
You may not know this, but even now, your grandpa often still feels like the shy kid who worries people will laugh at him or think he is foolish. That feeling never completely disappears for many of us. It is part of being human. We simply learn to move anyway. Courage is rarely the absence of fear. Most often, it is movement in spite of fear.
And that is why I want you to resist the temptation to sit too long in comfort. Childhood pleasures are fine for a season. Games, distractions, endless entertainment, those things can be fun, but life has more waiting for you than screens and safe routines. The world is filled with people in their thirties who never stepped forward, never tested themselves, never chased opportunity, never sought deep love, never discovered what they were capable of becoming because they stayed still too long.
I do not want that for you.
I want you to experience life fully. I want you to take risks. I want you to work hard, fail sometimes, learn, adapt, and discover your own strength. I want you to love deeply and be loved deeply in return. I want you to find meaning in whatever work you choose. I want you to become a good man, not just a successful one.
And yes, there is something emotional about this for me too, because you carry my name. You carry part of my heritage, my story, my family line. One day, long after I am gone, a part of me will still remain in this world through you. That is a humbling thing for a grandfather to realize.
I love you, Landon Martin. You have always been my beautiful boy. But today, you are becoming a man.
And I could not be more proud of you.
I look forward to watching you make your mark on the world.
Grandpa