Simple Lessons from a Man of Steel

My father was a graduate of Johns Hopkins University, a U.S. Army vet, a father of 3, a steelworker, and a man of simple wisdom. He passed away years ago, but his wisdom echoes in my ears. I've quoted him on occasion. His perspective makes people smile. A few people made me promise to write and share his simple wisdom with a broader audience. This is the fulfillment of that promise.

In my 20s, I worked for a prosperous man who said the accumulation of wealth gave him only brief moments of satisfaction. He shared that life’s satisfaction came from the search for wisdom -- and that's where his passion was. He recommended that if I wanted a life of contentment, I spend my free time researching and finding sources of wisdom. He said wisdom is often found in places you might least expect it. Those wise words affected me.

It's a good thing that wisdom is not exclusive to wealth, pedigree, or privilege. If it were, my dad wouldn’t have it. Though my dad attended a prestigious university, his journey was anything but prestigious, and our family lacked pedigree and privilege. My dad's father was a steelworker, and his grandfather was a janitor. Realizing my dad's academic potential in high school, his father offered to pay for his college IF, but only if he chose to go to college directly after high school.

My steelworker grandfather knew that a college degree provided a better chance of upward mobility in whatever industry my dad chose, plus it would provide additional career opportunities for his son. And he wanted the best for his son. His son, however, had other ideas. It was the late 1950s, and the local steel plant was thriving- it was the largest in the world. Employees could secure jobs directly out of high school and earn a substantial middle-class income, including company-paid pensions and life insurance.

My dad, a self-described hardhead, took the good-paying steelworker job out of high school and years later found himself frustrated and mired down in roles with no upward mobility. Whether right or wrong, at the steel mill (and most places even today), experience, wisdom, and common sense are valued only if accompanied by a college degree. Instead of complaining about the lack of opportunities, my dad chose to get a college degree, but life was complicated. The offer from his dad to pay for college was off the table; dad already had one child (me), another one on the way, a mortgage, and a wife. He worked shiftwork, which meant a weekly changing schedule of 7 am-3 pm, 3 pm-11 pm or 11 pm-7 am. Work was exhausting. He worked near giant melting ovens, where working conditions were often 110 degrees at best. Since he had (mostly) night classes, he tried to trade shifts with people. Mom shared that few were willing to trade shifts with him as his peer union workers were jealous and somewhat resentful that with a college degree and his dependable work history, my dad would be promoted into a supervisory role--which was non-union. Dad didn't want to go into debt for college, so he picked up two part-time jobs in addition to his full-time and part-time college. Additionally, he had to drive from the suburbs into the city for college. Dad asked college professors for leniency if he missed class because he worked 3 jobs – he even volunteered to turn work in early. They told him it wasn't their problem. Some told him they got paid whether he passed or not, and others they would fail him if he missed "x" number of classes. He had to retake several classes because of attendance, even though he'd earned a 'B.'

My dad was neither shy nor gregarious. I don’t remember a time when he said something prejudiced about any group. He would share candid conversations and opinions about people with me, but without broad generalizations. He didn’t gossip. He was dependable. Dad was one of the most content people I ever met. He was a rock. His philosophical gems of wisdom were expressed in simple terms and devoid of an us versus them mindset.

Me: Did it make you mad that multiple professors made you take the class over even when you had good grades?

Dad: Not really. I communicated with them proactively, and they said no. I dealt with it in my mind immediately before it ate me up inside.

Me: How did you react to close friends not trading shifts with you, even when the better hours would have benefited them?

Dad: I chose not to think about it. You know, you have control over what you think of. We are not animals; we decide what we focus on. I focus on myself, my family, and my situation.

Dad shared that he spent over an hour in meetings being cussed out in a personal and demeaning manner by union reps for an alcoholic who was continually late for work. Me: Does it eat you up inside when they make it so personal? Do you hate those guys? Do you want to get them back?

Dad: No, I don’t hate them at all. It doesn’t bother me like you think, son. I feel sorry for my worker’s (the person suffering from alcoholism) family. The union rep is just putting on a big show out of self-interest. You can’t take these things personally. They think they are being a good advocate for the suffering alcoholic, but they are just providing him with another excuse to sink lower. If they, or any of his friends, cared about him, they would pull him aside and plead with him to change, if not for his sake, for the sake of his family.

Me: Dad, why do you love reading the newspaper so much?

Dad: I don’t want TV or people at work to make me react emotionally to the news. I want to think for myself.

Me (as a teenager after being told to spend an hour or two doing chores before disappearing with friends for the rest of the day): Dad, I don't feel like doing any of that.

Dad: Feel like it? Feel like it? What do feelings have to do with it? We do it because it needs to get done. We never ask ourselves if we feel like doing it.

Me: Dad, why do you write things down so much?

Dad: I write things down when I tell someone, even myself, that I’ll do something. That way, I never have an excuse for forgetting. I keep my promises.

Me: Dad, does it make you happy to do _________ ?

Dad: Son, whenever I’m not happy, I make myself happy. It’s all in the mind. I suggest you do it too.

Me: Dad, why does Pop (his father) dress up in nice clothes, wear a hat, and talk so nicely and formally to everyone?

Dad: Because in his day, one of the highest forms of compliment a working man could receive was to be called a ‘gentleman.’ Your Pop is a gentleman.

Me: Dad, I'm quitting _________ (drums, football, track, church, etc.).

Dad: Why, do you have a better plan? Make your own decision, but leaving something you committed to only makes you a quitter. Have a better plan; it makes you look smarter.

Me: Dad, what do you think about this or that controversial person, thing they did, or what everyone else is talking about?

Dad: They are not bothering me. Why should I bother people with opinions they didn’t ask for nor want to hear? I have enough work to do on myself that I don’t need to judge someone else.

Me: Dad, how come when I see you in a group of people talking about others, you don’t participate?

Dad: I participate in the discussion, just not the part where I talk poorly about others. I have no idea what they are going through. I’m in no place to judge. And if that’s not good enough for you, son, then assume whatever you or I say will get back to them. You’d be surprised how many times that happens.

Me: Dad, what is your biggest regret in life?

Dad: Worry. I worried all my life about work, money, you kids, your mom's happiness, our health, and how my choices would affect us all. As I come to the end of my life, I see that all that worry was for nothing. I couldn't change a thing through worry; I could only waste time and happiness.