A Lesson About Gratitude

I was always entrepreneurial. When I was in the third grade in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, when I discovered I could collect aluminum cans and bottles and return them for money. It was an absolutely magic moment for me that my work could result in compensation. I aggressively began a routine of collecting cans in my spare time – I had customers signed up for pick-up and I loved going dumpster diving at Kiwanis Park where I could easily get a wagon load or two after the big Saturday barbecues. My mother’s car always smelled of old beer because every Saturday morning we made the trip to cash in those cans. Making money without a goal wasn’t very satisfying so I set a goal to buy an airline ticket to visit my grandparents in San Diego. I dreamed of visiting Disneyland and the ocean and every night I would read through this old copy of a Disneyland book to keep me inspired about this goal.

March came that year and I was in the fourth grade. I had finally achieved my goal and I purchased a Continental airline ticket leaving from Denver direct to San Diego. The flight was to leave on a Saturday afternoon. Now spring in the mountains is tricky, and sure enough, a major snow storm broke down upon us that Friday. My father decided we should make the journey on Friday evening, so we had a better chance of getting to Denver which was 3 hours away in good weather. He knew this trip mattered to me and he felt strongly that our best chances were to leave that night.

It was a remarkable journey. I remember being in the passenger seat as we headed over the Grand Avenue bridge in Glenwood with the hot springs pool fog rising in the falling snow. It was quiet but it was special – traveling with my father off into the darkness on an adventure! Now my father was an FBI agent and his car was equipped with a radio to the State Patrol and we were just outside of Eagle when it was announced that Vail pass was closed. This is about half way to Denver. I was crushed but my father wasn’t worried. He knew another way and soon we were headed the long way through State Bridge which was a more challenging drive but the road was open. It was dark, snowing – trying to keep an eye on the road was difficult and the falling snow was hypnotic. We were making decent progress, but my father lost control of the car in a very remote side road on a mountain pass. We spun around a few times and ended up deep in the snow bank. We radioed for help but the plows were a long way off and we were on our own.

It didn’t defer my father. I will never forget how hard my father worked that night. For three hours straight he shoveled and dug. He never stopped for a break and wouldn’t have me help him because he was worried it wasn’t safe. But he did it. It was a miracle as we slowly drove away and down that mountain pass. As we finally came into Denver, the storm had left its mark. Cars were off on the shoulder and there were plenty of accidents, but we made it. The dawn was coming alive as we came down the last hill to Denver. I was going to make my plane and I was so excited about flying on my own for the first time and being in California with my grandparents.

We stayed in a little motel for a few hours of sleep and we arrived just in time for my flight. My father, due to his status as a federal agent, was able to help me board on the plane. And as he said goodbye and walked away, I suddenly felt this incredible sadness that he wasn’t coming with me. As I waved to him from my window seat, he simply stood there in the terminal with this deep and puzzling gaze. He must have been exhausted but I always imagined he was satisfied we had made that flight.

But I never once told him thank you for that night and for what he did for me.

And a mere three and a half years later, he would pilot his own plane across that same mountain range and would disappear in a storm like that March night. And that would forever end any chance for me to do so. As an adult and as a father – I know saying thank you would have mattered to him. Probably not much – he would have just shrugged it off and downplayed his role. I don’t really remember my trip to Disneyland, but I will never forget that night and how hard he fought for me. And it was important for me to know that while I raised the money and worked hard collecting my cans - without my father’s help, I wouldn’t have been successful. So, it’s true in life – we don’t realize what other mean to us and what we really mean to one another. And too often we never say thank you.

We work hard. We move fast. But this morning I just want to remind you all that it's always good to say thank you and live a life of gratitude.