Adkins said, quoting Keith, “Never apologize for being patriotic,” from the platform.
On July 29, 2024, in Nashville, Tennessee, Trace Adkins takes the stage at Bridgestone Arena. Image courtesy of Tibrina Hobson/Getty Images for Universal Music Group
In the two-hour NBC program Toby Keith: American Icon, Trace Adkins paid a moving homage to Toby Keith, recalling their many years of traveling together and the significant influence Keith had via his patriotism.
Adkins was one of the few artists that really know Toby Keith and the man behind the scenes, having been friends with Keith for many years and going on tours with. Adkins paused to remember the poignant message that Keith conveyed at the conclusion of each of his live performances before giving an incredibly emotional and beautiful rendition of “American Solider” in honor of Keith and his dedication to the military.
“I’ve known Toby for a very long time, and we did a lot of gigs together while on multiple tours together. I seem to recall that at the end of each performance he gave, he would always say, “Never apologize for being patriotic.” Every night, he said that, Adkins noted. And since, my God, he really did believe that, I realized while he was saying it that it was both a challenge to the rest of us and a window into Toby Keith’s personality.
Keith lived what he preached, and Adkins praised him for it. Keith had undertaken 11 USO Tours, performing in front of 256,000 soldiers and military families in 18 nations at over 285 engagements.
“He had a deep-rooted love and respect for the men and women who have served this country.” It was real, authentic, and meaningful. With a rich, baritone voice, he remarked, “I always respected him so much for that.” “Toby is someone I could talk about all night, but for now I’ll just say that I’m glad I got to know him and call him a friend. We miss you, Toby. Thank you.
Trace Adkins performed “American Solider” in a terrifying manner a short while later. On the screen behind him, pictures of Toby Keith and his numerous USO Tours displayed during his performance. Toby Keith: American Icon gave a truly remarkable performance, and it was undoubtedly an emotional time.
Written by Keith and Chuck Cannon, “American Solider” was published in November 2003. It can be found on the album Hi Shock’n Y’all and has an RIAA Platinum certification.
Among the many famous country musicians that gave their all to pay tribute to the late Toby Keith was Trace Adkins. Priscilla Block, Luke Bryan, Eric Church, Jordan Davis, Scotty Emerick, Brett Favre, Brantley Gilbert, Riley Green, HARDY, Tyler Hubbard, Jamey Johnson, Krystal Keith, Ella Langley, Mac McAnally, Ashley McBryde, Parker McCollum, Leanne Morgan, Darius Rucker, Carrie Underwood, Clay Walker, and Lainey Wilson were among the performers and special guests on the two-hour special.
The special featured a variety of musical performances that showcased Keith’s amazing songwriting and music, but it also emphasized his kindness and generosity by supporting The Toby Keith Foundation’s OK Kids Korral and Monroe Carell Jr. Children’s Hospital at Vanderbilt. Families from both groups seemed to tell the stories of how they were helped and supported when things were really hard.
NBC broadcast Toby Keith: American Icon on Wednesday, August 28 at 9 p.m. ET/PT. The next day, Peacock will offer the episode for streaming.
On February 5, 2024, the legendary country music performer Toby Keith departed from this life due to stomach cancer. He had an astounding 32 No. 1 hits over his career and sold an astounding 40 million albums.
Given that he has achieved a chart-topping hit for 20 years running, including “How Do You Like Me Now?!,” “Courtesy of the Red, White, & Blue (The Angry American),” “I Love This Bar,” “Beer For My Horses,” and “As Good As I Once Was,” it should come as no surprise that he is considered one of country music’s biggest hitmakers.
In addition to being inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame (after being admitted into the all-genre Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2015), he has been awarded the National Medal of Arts and the prestigious Merle Haggard Spirit Award by the Academy of Country Music.
The Oklahoma native won three BMI Country Songwriter of the Year awards over his career in addition to the BMI Icon Award. In 2006, his popular song “As Good As I Once Was” won BMI’s Country Song of the Year.
To date, Toby Keith’s music has received 100 million terrestrial radio spins and over 10 billion streaming.
My Daughter Said I Could Only Come to Her Graduation If I ‘Dressed Normal’ Because She Was Ashamed of Me
Carmen spent 22 years cleaning houses to put her daughter through college. But when graduation nears, Lena delivers a gutting ultimatum: come, but don’t look like yourself. Carmen’s pride turns to heartbreak — until she makes a bold choice that no one sees coming.
My fingers throbbed as I unlocked my front door. The scent of ammonia clung to my skin like a second uniform, my sturdy sneakers dragging across the floor. Another day without a proper break.
Keys in a front door | Source: Pexels
I’d spent 13 hours on my feet.
The bathrooms at the Westfield Hotel don’t clean themselves, and Mr. Davidson had asked me to stay late again. Three more rooms needed deep cleaning before the conference guests arrived tomorrow.
How could I say no? The overtime would help pay for Lena’s cap and gown when she graduated with her degree in business management.
A woman holding her graduation cap | Source: Pexels
My back ached as I shuffled toward the kitchen, but my eyes caught on the envelope taped to the fridge: Lena’s graduation ceremony program.
My chest warmed. Pride swelled through the exhaustion. My daughter — the first in our family to go to college.
All those years scrubbing grout and sacrificing sleep were worth it.
A woman with a satisfied smile | Source: Pexels
I whispered to myself, voice husky from fatigue, “I just want to see my girl walk that stage.”
Four years of scrimping and saving, of coming home with raw hands and a sore back.
Four years of Lena growing distant, making new friends, and learning new words that I sometimes struggled to understand.
A confident young woman | Source: Pexels
The microwave clock read 10:37 p.m. We still had to finalize the details about the ceremony; whether I’d have a reserved seat, what time I should arrive, etc.
But it was too late to call Lena now. She’d be studying for finals or out with those friends she mentioned — the ones I had never met.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow I would call about the ceremony.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Unsplash
On a rattling bus ride home the next day, I dialed Lena’s number.
My work shirt was damp against my back. My name, Carmen, was stitched in pale blue thread, still visible in the setting sun through the bus window.
“Hola, mija,” I said when Lena answered, the familiar voice of my daughter sending a wave of joy through my tired body.
The interior of a bus | Source: Pexels
“Mom, hi. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Just quick, I promise. About graduation next week… I could take the morning off, but I need to know if my seat will be reserved or if I need to get there early. I want a good seat to look at my girl.” I smiled softly, imagining the moment.
There was a pause, one that felt a little too long, and a little too heavy.
A person holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“Mom… you can come. Yeah. Uh, the seats aren’t reserved. Just… please promise you won’t wear anything weird.”
I stilled. My smile faded. “Weird? What would I wear that’s weird?”
“I just mean…” her voice dropped to a volume just above a whisper, “you know, not your usual stuff. This is a classy event. Everyone’s parents are, like, lawyers and doctors. Just dress… normal. No uniform. I don’t want people to know what you do.”
A woman speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
The bus hit a pothole, jostling me forward. I gripped the phone tighter.
I didn’t reply. Lena’s words landed like bleach on a fresh cut — sharp and burning. The way she said it, like I was some embarrassing secret she needed to cover up, hurt more than anything else ever could.
“I just want this day to be perfect,” Lena continued. “It’s important. Maybe the most important day of my life, Mom.”
A woman speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
“I know it’s important,” I managed. “Four years I’ve worked for this day.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, I’ve got to go. My study group is waiting.”
After Lena hung up, I sat motionless as the bus rumbled on. An old woman across the aisle gave me a sympathetic look. I wondered if my humiliation was that obvious.
A woman staring out a bus window | Source: Pexels
That night, I stood in front of my small closet.
I’d decided to wear my best church dress to the graduation weeks ago, a simple but stylish yellow knee-length with white trim. Maybe I should’ve told Lena that on the phone, but would it have changed anything?
I ran my fingers over the dress’s pleated skirt.
Clothes hanging in a closet | Source: Pexels
I’d worn this same dress to Lena’s high school graduation and had felt beautiful and proud that day. Now it looked garish in the dim light of my bedroom.
My gaze shifted to my work uniforms, three identical sets hanging neatly pressed. I had washed one that very morning.
It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t impressive. But it was honest.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Pexels
I shook my head as a wave of anger washed over me. It seemed impossible that a daughter I was so proud of could also be so disappointing.
“College might teach you fancy words, but I guess it doesn’t make you smart,” I muttered.
I then took out a notepad and began to write. When I finished, I folded the pages carefully and slipped it into an envelope.
A notepad, pen, and envelope | Source: Pexels
I arrived at the graduation ceremony early and found a seat. Rows of proud families filled in around me: perfumed women in designer outfits with real pearl necklaces, suited men with brand-name watches and silk ties.
I’d decided against wearing my church dress, after all. Instead, I sat straight-backed in my uniform.
A graduation ceremony | Source: Pexels
It was clean and neatly pressed, the blue fabric faded from hundreds of washings. I had polished my sensible work shoes until they gleamed.
I stuck out in the crowd, and I knew it.
The ceremony began with pomp and circumstance. Speeches about bright futures and limitless potential.
A woman making a speech during a graduation ceremony | Source: Pexels
I understood enough to know most of these graduates had grown up in a world without any real limitations. The pearl necklaces and expensive watches around me said it all.
And then Lena walked onto the stage, her cap bobbing among the sea of black. Her face scanned the crowd.
I knew when she spotted me because her eyes widened in horror.
A woman staring at something with wide eyes | Source: Unsplash
There was no wave. Just a tight smile. Controlled. Calculated.
I clapped anyway as she received her diploma, the kind of clap that said: You’re still my little girl, no matter what.
And I hoped she understood that even though she seemed to have gotten caught up in a world where her mother’s honest work was an embarrassment.
A person holding out a diploma | Source: Pexels
After the ceremony, families swarmed the lawn. Cameras flashed. Laughter rang out across the green space.
I stood apart, watching as Lena posed with friends, her smile wide and genuine.
When Lena finally approached, I saw my daughter’s eyes dart nervously to my uniform, then back to my face.
A woman wearing a cap and gown walking down a path | Source: Pexels
“Mom…” Lena said, her voice low. “I asked you not to wear that! I told you—”
I didn’t say a word. I just handed over the gift bag I’d brought with me.
“What’s this?” Lena asked, peering inside. She pulled out an envelope and removed a thin stack of papers.
An envelope | Source: Pexels
On the day I’d spoken to Lena, I’d written a list detailing every extra shift I took over the years to provide for her school clothes, college tuition, textbooks, and everything else she needed.
It detailed every house and hotel I’d worked in, every weekend I’d worked overtime, every penny I’d pinched along the way.
And right at the bottom, I’d written a simple message: “You wanted me invisible, but this is what built your future.”
A handwritten letter | Source: Unsplash
I left while she was still reading. I had a bus to catch. Another shift tomorrow.
A week passed. I worked extra hours to push away the memory of graduation day. My supervisor noticed my distraction.
“Everything okay, Carmen?” he asked as I restocked my cleaning cart.
A man wearing a suit | Source: Pexels
“My daughter graduated college,” I said, trying to inject pride into my voice.
“That’s wonderful! You must be so proud.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
That evening, there was a knock at my door. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.
An apartment hallway | Source: Pexels
Lena stood there, eyes puffy. She held her cap and gown bundled in her arms.
“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice small.
I stepped back, allowing my daughter to enter the apartment that had once been our shared home.
“I read your note,” Lena said after a moment of silence. “I’ve read it about 20 times.”
A serious woman | Source: Unsplash
I didn’t speak. I just nodded.
“I didn’t know,” Lena continued. “About the extra shifts, how you worked holidays, the night cleaning jobs… or, rather, I knew, but I never fully realized how much you sacrificed for me.”
“You weren’t supposed to know,” I said finally. “That was the point.”
A woman speaking to someone | Source: Unsplash
Lena’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so ashamed. Not of you — of me.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a frame. “Can we take a photo? Just us? I didn’t get any pictures with you at graduation.”
I didn’t speak. I just nodded.
A humble woman | Source: Unsplash
We stood together in my small living room: Lena in her gown, me in my uniform. The neighbor from across the hall took the photo with Lena’s fancy phone.
“I have a job interview next week,” Lena said later as we sat at my kitchen table. “It’s a good company, and the job offer includes benefits.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Your degree is working already.”
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
“Mom.” Lena reached across and took my hand. Her fingers traced the calluses and chemical burns I’d accumulated over the years. “Your hands built my future. I’ll never forget that again.”
The photo now hangs in our hallway.
Because love doesn’t always look like pearls and pressed suits. Sometimes, it looks like bleach-stained sneakers and a mother who never gave up.
A person cleaning a toilet | Source: Pexels
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