Happy Father’s Day to All Fathers, But Especially to Mine — General Larry O. Spencer, USAF (Retired)

Happy Father’s Day to every man who shows up in the trenches of life, not just for the shiny, polished moments, but for the hard ones. The ones that don’t make headlines. The quiet, relentless, everyday battles that require grit, patience, and a kind of love that doesn’t need to be seen to be real.

Today, I want to share the story of my father, General Larry O. Spencer, retired United States Air Force, a man whose journey is about far more than uniforms and stars. His story is about survival, endurance, and showing up in a world that demands everything from Black men but rarely gives them anything back—not grace, credit, or room to breathe.

From Airman Basic to Four-Star General

My dad’s military career is the kind of journey that defies the odds. He started as an E-1 (the very lowest enlisted rank in the Air Force) and climbed all the way to a four-star general. That path is so rare it has a name: Mustang. It takes more than hard work. It takes resilience, strategy, humility, and the ability to lead even when the system is designed to overlook you.

As a Black man in a rigid, hierarchical institution, his climb wasn’t just steep — it was historic. He wasn’t handed anything. He earned every salute, every stripe, every star. Quietly. Consistently. Powerfully.

But at home, he wasn’t “General.” He was Dad. Not the man on stage or in headlines, but the one who changed the oil, grilled in the backyard, yelled at the Commanders on television on Sundays, and never let us forget that love is a verb.

The Love Story (and a Little Chaos)

My parents met in North Carolina. My mom, Ora Spencer, was in a singing group. One of the other singers was dating my dad’s buddy and invited him to a show. Now listen, my dad showed up with no money. Couldn’t pay to get in. My mom paid his way. And just like that, the love story began.

Life came at them fast.

BOOM... baby number one. Eleven months later? Baby number two. And then eleven years later? Surprise... me! See what I mean? Life really came at them fast.

They’ve been married for over fifty years. That’s five decades of sacrifice, laughter, late-night talks, moves, TDYs, disagreements, forgiveness, and love that runs deep even when things aren’t perfect. That’s not just romance. That’s partnership.

And behind it all was my mother — the quiet powerhouse. She’s been our family’s anchor, holding us down with grace and grit. Through every relocation, she made each house a home. Through every uncertainty, she gave us stability. She taught us how to walk with dignity, pray with intention, and speak up even when our voices shook.

Growing Up a Military Kid

Being a military child isn’t easy. We moved a lot — Oklahoma, Utah, Ohio, back to the DMV (DC, Maryland, and Virginia). Each move meant new schools, new kids, new versions of trying to fit in. And being an officer’s kid added a layer. We lived on one side of the base, but most of the kids I wanted to play with lived on the other side. I used to dream about living there, just to feel like I belonged.

But while the outside world was confusing, my parents made sure our home was full of warmth, identity, and pride. They raised us with purpose and intention. We didn’t always have it easy, but we never felt unloved.

My Dad Is Quiet — Until He Isn’t

My dad is an introvert. Peace and quiet are his love language. And me? I’m the opposite. I talk. A lot. I talk to my mom every day. And when he’s in the room while we’re going back and forth, you’ll hear the TV slowly get louder and louder. Click… click… click. It’s his hilarious way of saying, “Enough.”

But don’t get it twisted, for a quiet man, he’s full of flavor. His playlists are elite. One minute it’s Jay-Z, then Tupac, then Kendrick, then J. Cole... and out of nowhere, you’re in full gospel with Kirk Franklin. Then it’s the Commodores. The transition is wild but smooth, just like him.

He’s not loud, but he’s present. Especially when it matters.

I’ll never forget my first concert — TLC in Hampton, Virginia. Destiny’s Child opened (and yes, I’ve been a proud member of the BeyHive since jump). But what I remember most is my dad, standing up, dancing, smiling like nobody was watching. That night, he wasn’t a military man. He was just a cool Dad.

He’s a Granddad Now — and I’ve Been Replaced

When I had my daughter Tahiry in 2016, I lost my spot. She’s his best friend now. Every Friday is their day. Chipotle runs, Prince and Michael Jackson videos, and long moments where it’s just the two of them, vibing in a world of their own.

That bond is everything to me. It’s beautiful to see the way he pours into her - calm, steady, loving. It’s the kind of relationship that makes me emotional when I think about it too long, because I know how lucky we are.

Stubborn Runs in the Family

I’ll be honest: I frustrate him. I’m stubborn. I ask hard questions. I learn lessons the hard way. But once I get it, I get it. And he knows that. He’s patient, even when I push back. And through it all, he drops gems... simple ones, but sharp.

His favorite? “Never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut.”

It’s not about silence. It’s about discernment. About knowing when to speak and when to observe. About understanding that presence can speak louder than words, especially in rooms where you’re already being underestimated. Another thing. He is always right. At least 95% of the time. It's annoying... but true.

The Man, Not the Medals

People recognize him everywhere. But not because he talks about himself... he never does. It’s because of who he was to them. The mentor. The leader. The one who gave without needing credit.

They don’t just remember the general. They remember the peppermint patties, the McDonald’s orders, the half-and-half iced teas. They remember how he made them feel seen and heard.

That’s legacy. Not the resume.

Shameless Plug (Because He’d Never Say It) - If you want to know more about his journey — how he went from E-1 to four-star general, how he carried his dignity through institutions that weren’t built with him in mind — then grab a copy of his book, Dark Horse, on Amazon.

Shameless plug. But seriously. Read it. His story deserves to be heard.

This Is What Fatherhood Looks Like

This Father’s Day, I’m honoring a man who never stopped showing up.

Not the perfect man, but the real one. The one who led with love, protected with presence, and parented through every challenge with quiet strength.

He gave us more than security. He gave us legacy.

So, Dad, I see you. I thank you. If you are reading this, Beyoncé comes to Northwest Stadium on July 4 and 7, and I work for a nonprofit, so let the Lord use you. I have included the link to be helpful.