08/25/2026
People often say that no parent can speak about their children without bias.
Looking back, I can admit there are times I’ve let a father’s pride creep into the stories I share. But as I sat down to write this, wondering if I could truly set my bias aside, a realization struck me: it is impossible for me to be biased here.
I could not embellish this story enough to overstate the truth of who my son is. If anything, I’ve had to scale back the details to protect his privacy.
My son, Trace, is one of the toughest men I know.
When I say tough, I don’t mean he belongs in a UFC cage or on a football field as a middle linebacker. Trace’s toughness is different. He is one of the kindest, most gentle souls I have ever met. He is an amazing son and an even better big brother, setting an example of love for his younger siblings that is difficult to overstate. He has become an example to me, too; a quiet pillar of strength I look to for my own inspiration.
On Christmas Eve in 2015, Trace’s world changed forever. He lost his mom to an opioid overdose. He was only eleven years old.
Even before her passing, Trace knew his life looked different than his peers. None of his friends were being raised by a single father. He was a curious kid who asked heavy questions, questions that had no easy answers, answers not meant for a young brain that wasn't yet ready to comprehend the weight of addiction.
Every other weekend visits to Ohio were never enough; the only way to share the simple joys of his day was over the phone. Trace had a deep desire for something different.
After she passed, the challenges kept coming. Every year, the school mother-son dance brought tears, tight hugs, and desperate attempts to comfort him. Trace just wanted his mom. He wanted her in the stands at his games. He wanted her there at bedtime. He wanted her close.
Nights were the hardest. I can't count how many times I held him and said, “Everything’s going to be okay. Because we’re going to make it okay.”
Today, every major milestone in Trace’s life includes a quiet moment dedicated to her. He doesn’t announce it to the room. In fact, I might be the only one who notices. But I see it on his face; a familiar look of deep loss, longing, and a profound love that has nowhere to go. I feel it right along with him, every single time.
There are so many exciting milestones on his horizon: college graduation, a first professional career, marriage, and one day, fatherhood. I know that every one of those beautiful days will still carry a quiet moment of longing for the mom who should be there.
Yet, through it all, Trace never wavered. Not through the social rigors of middle school, the athletic frustrations of being a late bloomer in high school, or the sudden freedom and temptation of college. He never once used his circumstances as an excuse to fail.
For years, Trace languished as an average baseball player. He was skinny, slow, and lacked power. Very few coaches believed in him. He spent years anchored to the bottom of the batting order, or serving as the "mop-up" pitcher sent in to eat up innings after the opponent had already built a massive lead. Most kids would have quit the sport long before high school ended. It wasn't easy. We had plenty of frustrating dinner table conversations about playing time and coaching decisions.
The lack of playing time and recognition never slowed his work ethic. It never diminished his love for the game.
Last summer, Trace played semi-pro baseball for the Elkhart Miracle in the Northern League. Facing college athletes, Trace hit well over .300. The second to last time he took the mound, he threw a brilliant three hit, seven strikeouts, complete game shutout. Proving just how unshakeable he is, he wasn't even supposed to pitch that night; he was given the nod just 45 minutes before the first pitch.
College brought its own trial. The transition to university life is tough for any eighteen-year-old, and Trace was no exception. His freshman year at Michigan State was marred by social challenges, academic hiccups, and a severely mismatched roommate. His GPA plummeted, and he faced a devastating blow: he was rejected from the competitive engineering school.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. True to form, Trace made zero excuses. He took total ownership of his mistakes and quietly went to work to fix them.
Just recently, Trace completed a summer civil engineering internship with Arcadis, a global powerhouse firm out of Amsterdam. He did so well they already asked him back for next summer and to work remotely part-time during this school year. His GPA is now well over 3.0.
I’ve heard the old parenting advice you shouldn't be friends with your kids, that it diminishes your authority. I completely disagree. Trace is my best friend. We’ve been through a lot. We have an unshakeable bond. He is supportive, loving, and fiercely resilient. He has faced more adversity than most people twice his age, yet he has never once used hardship as an excuse to give up or make a poor choice.
Adversity is a guarantee in life. Unfortunately, it chose to visit Trace very early on. But hardship did not break him; it forged him. I am extremely proud to say that Trace James Leliaert is my son. He has stared down tragedy, mastered resilience, built an unbreakable endurance, and possesses the pure perseverance to keep chasing the things that matter most.
