Have you ever noticed that everybody wants freedom until they find out freedom comes with a bill?
Everybody wants the long weekend. Everybody wants the cookout, the boat ride, the beach chair, the cold drink, the cheeseburger, the family time, and the right to complain about traffic like sitting behind a slow driver is some kind of constitutional crisis. And listen, I am all for it. I love America. I love a good grill. I love a holiday weekend. I fully support your right to eat three hot dogs and pretend Monday calories do not count.
But Memorial Day has always hit a little different for me. I did not grow up seeing Memorial Day as just the unofficial start of summer. I grew up around the military, and when you grow up around the military, especially around men who have actually paid the price for freedom, you see the world a little differently.
My dad was Reginald Salinas. Funny thing is, he was actually supposed to be named Reynaldo. That was the name. But apparently the hospital looked at “Reynaldo,” panicked, threw a dart at a wall of names, and put “Reginald” on the birth certificate. Everybody called him Ray growing up. Then he got drafted into the Army and found out, surprise buddy, your government name is Reginald. Can you imagine that? You think your name is one thing your whole life, then Uncle Sam shows up and says, “Actually, we have paperwork.”
That right there is enough to make a man tough. But my dad did not need much help in that department.
He became a 30-year Army veteran. Vietnam veteran. Army Ranger. Sniper. A real bad ass. He was tall, lean, thin, smart, disciplined, and not afraid of anything. He was the kind of man who did not need to announce he was tough. You just knew. Mostly because every other tough guy in the room seemed to know too.
Memorial Day Was Different In Our House
I was born at Fort Stewart in Georgia, and we spent a big part of our life around Fort Bragg. Military life was normal to us. Not normal like, “We moved around a little.” Normal like artillery shells rattling the house because they were out doing practice shots. Normal like C-130s flying over the house making landing runs into Pope Air Force Base.
Some kids grew up hearing lawn mowers and ice cream trucks. We grew up hearing freedom doing touch-and-goes over the roof. And as a kid, you do not really know how strange that is. You think everybody’s house shakes during dinner. You think everybody goes to barbecues with guys who look like regular dads, but could probably disappear into the woods with a pocketknife, a canteen, and half a sandwich, then come back three days later with a full tactical plan and a better attitude than you had when you left.
We were around military families all the time. My dad’s crew, so to speak. Special Forces guys. Green Berets. Men who had seen things, done things, sacrificed things, and carried things most people could not imagine. And yet, there they were, standing around like any other American family, laughing, cooking, telling stories, eating off paper plates, and probably judging the guy who burned the burgers.
That was my childhood. Memorial Day was like the Fourth of July in some ways. We celebrated. We ate. We laughed. We visited other military families. But it was not just red, white, blue, and potato salad. There was weight to it.
Even if I did not fully understand it as a kid, I could feel it. There was a difference between celebrating freedom and understanding that someone paid for it.
My dad understood the price. He lived it. He survived it. And because of what he went through, because of what he endured, because of the life he lived and the discipline he carried, my two sisters and I are in a better spot today.
That is not a small thing. That is legacy.
Freedom Is Not Free, And It Never Was
We say “freedom is not free” so often that sometimes it starts sounding like something printed on a bumper sticker. But it is true. Freedom has a price tag.
Somebody paid for the peace you enjoy. Somebody missed birthdays. Somebody left home. Somebody slept in places you would not want to walk through. Somebody lived with fear, pressure, heat, cold, danger, and uncertainty so other people could sleep peacefully at night.
And in my case, that somebody was my old man. Reginald “Ray” Salinas. The man whose name got messed up by a hospital and whose life got shaped by the Army.
He taught me discipline without needing a PowerPoint presentation. He taught me never quit without putting it on a motivational poster. He showed me that toughness was not loud. It was steady. It was consistent. It was showing up. It was doing the job. It was handling pressure. It was protecting your family. It was not making excuses.
Looking back now, I can see it clearly. When you grow up with a guy who helped save the world and let you sleep peacefully at night, your life is probably going to look different than most. Your standards are different. Your excuses are fewer. Your tolerance for whining gets real low, real fast.
That might explain a few things about me.
I am disciplined because I saw discipline. I am tenacious because I saw tenacity. I call people out because I was raised around men who did not have time for nonsense. I am opinionated because I learned early that standing for something matters. I do not take no for an answer because I grew up around people who solved problems under conditions most of us would not even want to visit.
And no, I would not change it for anything.
Everybody Wants The Reward, Not Everybody Wants The Responsibility
Here is where Memorial Day connects to life and business. Everybody wants freedom. Financial freedom. Time freedom. Business freedom. Freedom to travel. Freedom to see your kids. Freedom to take the long weekend. Freedom to build a life instead of just survive one.
But here is the part people do not love. Freedom has a price.
In the military, that price can be life, danger, sacrifice, trauma, separation, and service. In business, the price is different, but it is still real. The price is discipline. The price is risk. The price is long days. The price is hearing no. The price is getting back up. The price is payroll. The price is hard conversations. The price is training people who may still disappoint you. The price is building systems when winging it would feel easier.
The price is making the call, following up, doing the work, learning the skill, fixing the problem, and not quitting when it gets uncomfortable.
Everybody loves the idea of being an entrepreneur until they realize entrepreneurship is not just coffee, podcasts, and telling people you are “building something.” Sometimes entrepreneurship is staring at a problem at 5:00 in the morning, wondering why in the world you chose this path, then getting up and doing it anyway.
Sometimes freedom looks like a dirty window. Sometimes freedom looks like a customer complaint. Sometimes freedom looks like a sales meeting. Sometimes freedom looks like hiring, firing, training, coaching, driving, grinding, and answering the phone when you would rather throw it into a lake.
That is the price.
And I think too many people want the reward without respecting the bill.
My dad did not live that way. He paid the price. He did the job. He served. He sacrificed. He survived. And he created a better path for his children.
That is the part that hits me now.
The Price We Pay For The Next Generation
I am heading up to Syracuse this weekend to see my younger son, Baden. Every time I get to do something like that, I am reminded that freedom is not just an idea. Freedom is time. Freedom is choice. Freedom is being able to get in the car and go see your kid. Freedom is building something that gives your family options.
Freedom is not just about making money. It is about creating a life where the people you love get a better shot because you were willing to do hard things.
That is what my dad did for us.
Now, I am not comparing running a business to serving in Vietnam. Let’s not get crazy. A bad Google review is not combat. A missed appointment is not a war zone. A technician calling out sick is not exactly storming the beaches. Although some Mondays in business do feel like they were designed by someone with military-grade psychological training.
But the principle is still there.
If you want freedom, you have to pay for it. If you want a better family life, you have to build it. If you want a better business, you have to lead it. If you want a better future, you have to earn it. And if you want your children to live in a better position than you did, you cannot just talk about sacrifice. You have to live it.
My father paid a price that changed our family. Now I believe it is my responsibility to pay my own price in a different way. To build. To lead. To work. To teach. To create opportunity. To help my family, my team, my franchisees, and the people watching me understand that freedom is possible, but it is not free.
Enjoy The Weekend, But Remember The Meaning
So yes, enjoy Memorial Day. Fire up the grill. Laugh with your family. Tell stories. Eat the hot dog. Maybe even eat the second hot dog. I am not here to ruin your weekend. I am not the cholesterol police.
But somewhere in the middle of the celebration, take a second to remember what the day really means. Remember the men and women who did not come home. Remember the families who carried that loss. Remember the people who paid a price most of us will never fully understand.
Then ask yourself a harder question.
What price am I willing to pay for the freedom I keep saying I want?
Am I willing to be more disciplined? Am I willing to stop quitting? Am I willing to lead better? Am I willing to work harder? Am I willing to build something that outlives my mood, my excuses, and my comfort zone?
Because freedom is beautiful. But freedom always sends an invoice.
My dad knew that. Reginald “Ray” Salinas knew that. He lived it. He taught it. And whether he knew it or not, he passed it down to me.
He left too early. I wish he was still here. I wish he could see everything his sacrifice helped create. But damn, he was a hell of a guy.
And if there is one thing I know, it is this: when you are raised by a man who paid the price for freedom, you do not get to live small. You do not get to make excuses. You do not get to quit every time life gets uncomfortable.
You get to work. You get to build. You get to honor the gift.
So this Memorial Day, celebrate. Smile. Laugh. Eat. Be grateful. And then, when the weekend is over, get back to building the kind of life that proves you understood the cost.
Keep Shining.
