A 50th birthday, a journalism assignment, and the quiet ways our kids are always watching
This past December, shortly before my daughter turned twelve, she said,
“Dad, I need to ask you some questions for my journalism class.”
She interviewed me. Took notes. Asked thoughtful questions.
I felt honored — until she followed it up with,
“I would have interviewed Mommy, but I don’t really understand what she does… lol.”
That made me laugh, because the truth is my daughter is a total Momma’s girl. Actually, both my kids are; and for good reason. My wife somehow makes running our home and our lives look effortless. She makes everything extra special. I am deeply grateful that the Lord blessed me with her.
Life kept moving. School. Work. Routines.
I don’t remember ever asking Ella when she had to present her project.
Then December 11 arrived.
My 50th birthday.
That’s still hard to write.
Fifty years somehow passed right in front of me. And on a day like that, you can’t help but take inventory.
Expectations vs. Reality
Years ago, I had imagined something big for my 50th — maybe flying private to the islands with friends. Something that looked like success.
Instead, my day started at 4:45 a.m.
I met up with an F3 men’s workout group — a boot-camp-style workout in the cold, dark morning. They call it “the gloom.” It wasn’t easy. But afterward, a guy named Terminator (everyone gets a nickname in F3) pulled out coffee, treats, and a small balloon that said Happy Birthday. We stood in a parking lot, half-frozen, taking selfies.
And I remember thinking: This is a really good start to my first day of being 50.
Around lunchtime, my employees surprised me by taking me to TacoLu. They were incredibly thoughtful and gave me a meaningful group gift. Even as we shared stories and laughed, the conversation naturally drifted toward the people and projects we care about — a reminder of how much heart they bring to their work and my life.
Throughout the day, texts and messages poured in. One from my sister included an old SNL skit of Sally O’Malley proudly declaring she was fifty. Still funny. Still relevant. Especially since my wife was next turning 50 at the end of the month.
On my birthday, my mom gave me tickets to see Elf at the Alhambra Dinner Theatre. Once again, we all went together as a family. The year before, she had surprised me with tickets to A Christmas Story — what I thought was just the two of us until my beautifully dressed wife and kids walked in to join us. (Photo below from last birthday.)
That’s kind of my Mom’s style trying to surprise me and keep me guessing.
The Gift That Stopped Me
That night, after dinner, my family handed me a few gifts. One was a magnetic wallet for the back of my phone — something I actually wanted, even though I’m still getting used to it constantly searching for my old bulky wallet.
Then Ella handed me a card.
Inside wasn’t just a note.
It was her journalism assignment.
The interview she had done weeks earlier.
I sat there quietly reading her words, and something shifted.
She talked about my work. About real estate. About property management. About serving others and being trusted with their most expensive assets. She used words like entrepreneur, responsibility, and asset — a word I apparently say often enough that she remembered the definition.
Then she wrote something that absolutely cracked me up and hit me in the feels my heart melted:
There are many fun facts about my dad, but the one that stands out the most is that my dad wears green socks on the days when he sells houses. Now when I see green socks, we call them “Money Socks.”
I laughed. And then I just sat there and reminisced.
Years ago, when my mentor passed away, I went shopping for a new suit to speak at his memorial service. I bought new shoes and two pairs of socks — one purple to match the tie I had chosen with the suit, and one green. Green has always been my favorite color, probably because it was my dad’s. I don’t even remember putting much thought into it at the time — it may have been a buy-one, get-one deal — but those green socks stayed with me.
Somewhere along the way, I started wearing those green socks on real estate closing days.
I never announced it. Never made a big deal about it.
But she noticed.
A New Season
On Christmas morning, one last small gift came my way.
A brand-new pair of green socks.
Same exact shade. I had been quietly looking for that color again after my original pair finally started to wear thin and developed a hole in the toe.
It was time for a new pair (money socks). And maybe a new season.
Turning fifty didn’t give me everything I once thought I wanted.
But it gave me clarity.
It reminded me that the greatest gifts aren’t things.
They’re moments.
They’re people.
They’re proof that what you’re pouring into others is taking root — even when you don’t realize anyone is watching.
And when I get to wear those green socks in the future, I will wear them knowing exactly what they represent.
Some gifts you open once.
Others you carry with you.
The following is Ella’s original journalism assignment — written in her own words.
“Ella Scarborough journalism assignment written at age 11”
propel your dream 