The Becoming of Makenzie Hawk

That’s Makenzie Hawk in the photo.

My daughter.
My graduate.
My state champion.
And one of the fiercest, kindest, most quietly powerful young women I’ve ever had the honor to watch grow.

She didn’t just finish high school—she commanded it.

Four years of AP classes.
High honor roll.
Academic cords around her neck.
And a championship ring shining on her hand like the punctuation mark on a chapter she absolutely crushed.

But that’s just the résumé.
What you need to know is the soul underneath all of that.

Makenzie is the one who smiles at the quiet kid in the back and means it.
She’s the teammate who rebounds and lifts others up after a missed shot.
She’s the student who’ll stay up late finishing an assignment and still show up the next morning with kindness in her eyes.

She is light and gravity.
She draws people in, not with volume, but with presence.
She doesn’t talk about being a leader—she just is.

Makenzie leads by example, by effort, by love.
She doesn’t need a stage or spotlight—excellence finds her because she’s been walking it out daily.

And now… she’s stepping into what’s next.

She’s headed off to college.

New campus.
New chapter.
New dreams.
And the best part—she won’t be alone.

She’ll be joining her sister there.
Two Hawks. Same mission. Same bloodline.
Walking into the future like they’ve been planning it all along.

It’s one of those full-circle blessings a father doesn’t take for granted.

And let’s just be real for a second—

NO. MORE. INFINITE CAMPUS.
I survived. We survived.
The emails, the missing assignments, the stress over quizzes she swore she studied for.
Gone.

I might throw my own little graduation party just for that. 😂

But here’s what I’ve been sitting with…

Makenzie’s graduation doesn’t just mark an ending—it marks a becoming.

She’s no longer the little girl who used to crash after practice in the back seat, shoes untied and music turned up.
She’s no longer the middle schooler carrying a backpack that weighed more than she did.
She’s not the same kid who once looked up at me wide-eyed from the court, searching for approval.

She’s grown now.
And she looks ahead—not for permission, but for what’s next.

Makenzie, if you're reading this:

You already know how proud I am of everything you’ve accomplished. But more than that, I’m proud of who you are when nobody’s watching. Of the way you treat people. Of the way you carry your name.

You are not just a daughter to me.
You are a reflection of something sacred—a reminder that even in a broken world, something good, something right, can be built.

You’re not my pride and joy alone—all my kids hold that space.
But today, baby girl, this moment belongs to you.

Now go.

Run toward your dreams like you’re chasing down a loose ball.
Dive. Fight. Scrap.
Get up and go again.
And don’t let anything or anyone convince you that you don’t belong where greatness lives.

You do.

You always have.

And no matter where life takes you—remember this:

You may be heading off to college...
But you’ll always be my baby girl.

I love you.
I’m proud of you.
And I’ll be cheering—always—from the front row.

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