Trading rank for roots

By Gail Parsons

For as long as he can remember, Steven Kurczak knew exactly what he was meant to do.

“I knew I wanted to serve my country… as far back as five years old,” he says.

That sense of purpose, something he describes as a “divine calling” carried him from a small riverside town in Virginia into a 26-year career as an Army officer. It shaped his decisions, sustained him through deployments and relocations, and anchored a growing family that would eventually include seven children. And when that career finally came to an end, it left him facing a question he had never seriously considered before: What comes next when the only life you’ve ever planned for is over?

A family tradition

Kurczak grew up in Tappahannock, Virginia, along the Rappahannock River, in a family steeped in Navy tradition. His grandfather and multiple uncles had all served at sea. For years, he assumed he would follow the same path.

“I thought it was going to be the Naval Academy,” he says.

But life, and what he sees as God’s sense of humor, redirected him. A football injury changed his trajectory, and an Army ROTC scholarship opened a different door. What began as a detour became a defining path.

“There’s an interservice rivalry between Army and Navy,” he said. “My family always thought Army was a four-letter word they couldn’t say out loud.”

Still, the deeper motivation remained unchanged. Service, leadership, and a commitment to something larger than himself drew him in. Commissioned as an Army officer after college, Kurczak quickly found his place.

He chose the Field Artillery career path, “a fish out of water” at first in a branch he hadn’t grown up around, largely because of the Army leaders who mentored him.

“They left an impact on me,” he says. “Their leadership, how they taught, how they communicated.”

A pivotal moment came during ROTC summer training, where cadets are tested on everything they’ve learned. Watching live artillery fire sealed it.

“I was sold,” he says.

Built on people, not just purpose

While Kurczak entered the Army with a strong sense of calling, it was the people who kept him there.

“I went in knowing it was my calling, but the people kept me there,” he says. “The friends I still have from the military.”

Over time, the Army became not just a profession, but a way of life, one that demanded constant movement. Every few years brought new orders, new locations, and new challenges. Over 26 years, his family would move nine times.

With each transition, Kurczak made a deliberate choice: involve his family.

“My family, and especially my wife, would have some vote and where we would go,” he said. “I could get the job requirements done at any of multiple location choices.”

That approach became increasingly important as his family grew. He and his wife eventually became parents to seven children, four biological daughters and three adopted siblings.

As responsibilities multiplied, so did moments of reflection.

“You start doing a little bit of that … am I supposed to still be doing this?” he says. “You start praying.”

But each time he evaluated his path, the answer remained the same.

“I had a leader early in my career that said, ‘when you stop having fun is probably when you start thinking about getting out of the military,’” he said. “Throughout the 26 years, I didn't stop having fun. Not all days are rainbows and unicorns, but the good days outweigh the bad.”

A family grows through loss and faith

The Kurczak family story took a profound turn during a difficult season.

After the loss of a newborn son, Steven and his wife felt called in a new direction: foster care.

“We thought we would be a foster family after I got out of the military,” he says. “But with our own traumatic experience of losing a newborn son, we thought God was telling us to do it while we were still serving.”

What began as an intention to foster became something more permanent.

Two siblings, Jayvion and Julaya, had been in the foster system for years in Kansas where Steven was stationed. When he and his wife were asked if they would consider adoption, it wasn’t what they had expected.

“That’s not how the foster system is supposed to work,” he recalls thinking. “You try to reintegrate the kids back to their families.”

But in this case, reunification wasn’t possible. The couple said yes.

Later, a third sibling, Ja’ziyah, nicknamed Jazzy, entered the system. By then, the Kurczaks had already adopted her brother and sister.

“We knew we would say yes to any siblings,” he says. “We wanted to keep them together.”

The process wasn’t simple. Military life complicated everything, especially as the family moved from Kansas to Illinois and later prepared to relocate again. Adoption timelines stretched, paperwork multiplied, and state systems didn’t always align.

“It added about two years to the process,” he says.

Determined to avoid further complications, Kurczak worked to finalize Jazzy’s adoption before the family’s next move to Georgia—successfully completing it during the uncertainty of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Through it all, he returns to the same theme: faith.

“Through our prayer, we were able to do both,” he says — serve and grow their family.

The Decision to Stay

By the time Kurczak arrived at Fort Stewart for his final assignment, he was a Lieutenant Colonel with decades of leadership behind him. He could have pursued further assignments, but it would have required yet another move.

This time, the decision was different.

“After nine moves in 26 years, I didn’t want to move again,” he says.

His children were settled in schools. His wife had found what he describes as her “dream job” teaching. For the first time, stability mattered more than advancement.

“I wanted to be a keeper of my own transition,” he says.

So, after 26 years, he retired and entered the civilian world. However, joining the military had been a lifelong plan, leaving it was the opposite.

“I didn’t know what my next purpose was,” Kurczak admits. “I didn’t know anything else.”

The transition to civilian life was, in many ways, more uncertain than anything he had faced in uniform. He applied for hundreds of jobs across the Savannah area.

“I cast a wide net,” he said.

Eventually, he found his place with Hyundai Motor Group Metaplant America (HMGMA), where he now works in Employee Relations. A position that aligned with his strengths and what he learned in the Army.

“What I do here is a continuation of what I did in the military,” he says.

Instead of leading soldiers, he now supports employees, helping them navigate challenges, connect with resources, and improve their work experience.

“If their needs are met, they help meet the business needs,” he says. “They help us make a quality car.”

While Kurczak has found fulfillment in his new role, the transition hasn’t been without difficulty.

One of the biggest challenges, he says, is redefining identity. In the military, rank and role are immediately understood. In civilian life, those markers disappear.

“My neighbors didn’t know me as Lieutenant Colonel,” he says. “I wasn’t coming out of the house every day in uniform.”

Building community has also been harder than expected. After years of moving, the Kurczaks are used to starting over, but civilian communities don’t always function the same way military ones do.

“In the military, you put yourself out there,” he says. “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, you volunteer. I think that’s the things that we’ll have to continue to work on to establish ourselves in the communities that we live in, that we work in, and that we go to school in.”

In a more rooted community, where many relationships have developed over years or decades, connection can take longer.

“We haven’t found our people yet,” he says. “But I think that’ll come over time.”

For all the focus on his own journey, Kurczak is quick to shift attention to his family.

“The entire family serves,” he says.

His children, now spread across college, high school, and middle school, have grown up navigating constant change. They’ve gained adaptability, perspective, and resilience. But those strengths have come with sacrifices.

“They’re connected to friends all over the nation,” he says. “But they didn’t grow up with the same friends their whole childhood.”

It’s a tradeoff many military families understand deeply—and one he believes deserves broader recognition.

Today, the Kurczaks are putting down roots in Richmond Hill. Their children are thriving in schools and activities, especially dance, a passion that has become a central thread in family life.

“I’m a dance dad,” he says, laughing. “All my money goes to dance.”

After decades of movement, the idea of staying put feels both unfamiliar and right.

“We decided to plant our flag here,” he says.

For a man who once defined his life by service in uniform, the mission has changed but the purpose remains: Helping people. Building community. Leading with intention. Just in a different kind of uniform.