When I first sat down to write Dad’s Home and Ready to Play!, I wasn’t thinking about every kind of family. I was thinking about military families.

I was thinking about the kids who watch their parent leave, the families who learn how to keep going while someone they love is far away, and the incredible excitement of finally seeing that person walk through the front door again.

I wanted those children to have a story that felt like it understood them.

But somewhere along the way, I realized that the story was speaking to me in a much bigger way.

Because you don’t have to be a military family to know what it feels like to miss someone. Maybe your dad travels for work. Maybe your mom works long shifts. Maybe a parent spends most of the week away from home. Maybe everyone in the family is simply so busy that finding an hour to sit together without someone checking their phone feels almost impossible.

Different circumstances. Same basic feeling. I just want you here. That’s something children understand very well. They don’t necessarily care why you’re away. They just know you’re gone. And when you come home, they want you. Not a big present. Not some elaborate plan. Not even necessarily a big conversation. They might just want to tell you what happened at school. They might want you to see the drawing they’ve been working on. They might want to climb onto the couch beside you. Or, like the children in Dad’s Home and Ready to Play!, they might simply want to play. That simplicity is one of the things I love most about the story. The father comes home, and the family doesn’t need some perfect movie moment. They just start spending time together again. There is laughter. There is play. There are chores. There are little conversations and silly moments. That’s real family life. And I think that’s why a non-military family can pick up this book and still see a little bit of themselves in it.

At the same time, I hope civilian children come away with something else: a better understanding of what military families experience. They get a small glimpse into what it means to wait for a parent who may be thousands of miles away. They see that while their own family may look different, the love inside another family isn’t so different after all. That’s where stories can make a difference. A child doesn’t have to experience something personally to care about it. Sometimes they just need someone to show them.

Because childhood moves quickly, one day you’re being asked to play hide-and-seek, and before you know it, your child has grown up and doesn’t ask anymore. Those little moments matter. Sometimes, home is the person who walks through the door.

And sometimes the best thing we can do when they arrive is forget everything else for a while, get down on the floor, and play.