What I Learned From My Dad (Part 1)

On May 5, 2020, my dad passed away from complications related to COVID-19. He was taken from us far too soon. To commemorate his memory on Father's Day, this is the first of a series of posts on how he has influenced my life. While I'm writing this mostly for me, I hope others see benefit in his life lessons and how he chose to live.

Hey, dear dad, can you hear me now?

I am myself, like you, somehow.

-- Pearl Jam, "Release"

At face value, outside of physical and vocal resemblance, my dad and I didn't have much in common. He was a straight-talking, no-nonsense cop, who became a straight-talking, no-nonsense security guard; I guide people through change. He stopped people from doing bad; I help people do good. He was a skilled woodworker and could build anything; I'm all thumbs. He preferred to learn by getting his hands dirty, experimenting and doing; I'm a voracious reader and like to go over things in my head. That said, I think the gap between our personalities narrowed over time.

I spent most of my childhood trying to get his attention (as you can see above) and make him proud, as I'm sure most boys of my generation did with their dads. But he never really had much to say. He could be kind, sensitive and thoughtful, but that wasn't really the role he felt he needed to play in our family. He needed to keep me out of trouble, on the straight and narrow. After I graduated from university and started charting my path in the working world and he was still getting on my case, I asked him once "at what point can you take a breath, relax, and realize I've got this?" He answered "when that day comes, I'll let you know." (and he actually did, about 15 years later)

What I realized later, was that even though he always told me he didn't want to teach me things because he thought he was a terrible teacher, that in fact, he was always teaching. I just needed to learn to pay attention to what he was saying, but also to what he wasn't. He let his actions do a lot of the work.

My dad wasn't educated. He left school after Grade 10. Though he did graduate from police college, he never completed his GED (times were different back then). But that doesn't mean he wasn't smart. He probably had the most well developed set of values and common sense that I've ever seen, and he had a great problem solving mind. Couple that with a work ethic that just wouldn't quit, and you have someone who, despite his faults, was really easy for me to look up to.

Even though dad and I have led two very different lives, I've started noticing how many of the things I learned from him have crept into my leadership and work styles. Here are the first few:

1) Support, don't protect.

Man, did I resent this one growing up. Dad never, ever, ever took anything off my plate (except for one exception I'll get to later). Chores still needed to get done even when homework piled up, I started working full time, and mom got sicker. I'd ask him "how am I supposed to do all this?" and he'd just say "you're smart, figure it out. Life won't get any easier so you're best off learning how to handle it now." And of course, he was right.

But he always did do just enough to let me know he had my back. In university, my tv broke and I wanted a new one. So I called him up and told him about it and asked if he could get me one.

"What do you need a tv for?"

"To play video games mostly. It helps me take a break from work and relax, so I can work more later."

"How much will it cost?"

"$350."

"Ok. How will you pay me back?"

"WHAT? Dad, I'm a university student, I'm broke."

"No you're not. You have a part time job and you get a monthly cheque. You just might not have $350 right now. So you decide what is more important to you. Getting a new tv or whatever else you spend your money on. Then when you figure it out, tell me how you'll pay me back. No interest. You can pay me $10 a month for 35 months, I don't care, but tell me how you're going to do it, then do it."

So I checked in with my job, took on a few extra shifts, bought a few less cases of beer, and settled on paying him $50 a month for 7 months. He agreed, sent me the money to buy the tv, and I ended up paying it off 2 months early. After making the last payment, he says, "there, was that so hard?"

As adults, we would talk about this and other things and reminisce. I'm paraphrasing, but I asked him once, why he never took it easy on me or just gave me anything. Here's the gist of what he told me.

As we overcome challenges, we grow and get stronger, and we are able to take on more difficult challenges, and accomplish more, until we reach our full potential. I knew you were going to face a lot of challenges, because of your mom, but also because the world isn't getting any easier to live in. I wanted you to be ready. I wanted you to be resilient and not wilt in the face of hardship. So yes, I always wanted the best for you, but sometimes that meant throwing you in the pool and seeing if you'd sink or swim, and seeing how much you could take. You might not have noticed, but I always had my hand just under your belly if you ever started to sink. But if you knew my hand was there, would you have swam as hard?

And he was right. When things came down to it he had my back. When I fractured my skull as a child (twice) he immediately dropped everything and stayed home with me until I recovered. He put calamine lotion on my chicken pox and drove me to knee rehab. He'd always pay for my school stuff, even though he would ask me what chores I would do to deserve the money and held me to it, and would get me to do them over if I didn't do them to his standard. In fairness, he'd always slide me a few extra dollars if I did ever meet or exceed his standard. It didn't happen often, but he acknowledged it when it did.

In university, when I needed extra money, he would drive 10 hours a day (5 hours each way) to pick me up from university so that I could work 3 shifts at the grocery store, then drive me back, on the condition that I had to pay for his lunch (quarter pounder with cheese, large fries, large Coke), and that I had to try to stay awake in the car so he'd have someone to talk to for half the drive. I wasn't always great at the second part. Sorry dad.

I noticed recently how that made its way into my management style. When staff would come and say "I have too much work" or "I can't do all this", I can't recall a time where I ever took work away. It was always "how can I support you in getting what you need?", "how can we reprioritize what you have on your plate?", or "how else do you see this work getting done?" After some negotiation, we would arrive on a demanding, but realistic, workplan, and staff would get the work done. And those staff members eventually were able to take on more work, and have more confidence in their abilities, and grow.

Ever overcome a really tough challenge? Maybe it was running a marathon, or climbing a mountain, or getting out of debt, or meeting a tough performance standard? How did you feel when you finally got over the hump? That sense of accomplishment, of pride? Now imagine if someone learned of your goal and said "that sounds hard, here, let me do that for you", and you never got to feel that feeling. You never got to understand how strong you really were, what you were really capable of. Never got to have those formative experiences that made you who you are. So yeah, dad never made things easy. But looking back on it now I'm glad he didn't.

2) The most important thing you can give someone, is your word.

Probably the highest compliment I can pay my dad is that he was a man of his word. He lived his life by his rules, and I can't remember a time when he ever broke those rules. And at the top of that list, was, "if you say you're going to do something, do it."

As alluded to above, my mom was sick for most of my life. Dad and I had to watch her, over the course of 20 years, become trapped by her own body and waste away. Dad did absolutely everything that anyone could possibly do to make sure she was taken care of. Sold our small, multi-story house and custom built a bungalow with ramps and lifts (while working a pile of overtime to be able to afford it - and he couldn't afford the full labour costs so he did a lot of the work himself). Built a nanny suite for my grandparents to live with us and help take care of her. Learned how to administer her vitamin injections. He even fought to have his benefits increased on the job so he could afford additional nursing care. He had to teach himself to cook, do laundry, maintain a house. I remember a lot of pizza being ordered at first as he would burn whatever he was trying to make, but he never gave up, never complained, and got better, to the point where he was as good, if not better, in the kitchen than most of my friends' moms. I grew up in the 80s, even though things were starting to change, dads in the kitchen still wasn't much of a thing back then.

While I won't get into detail, there were a few times growing up where circumstances would have allowed dad to leave, and no one would have thought less of him for it. I asked him later if he ever thought about leaving.

"Nope."

"Not once?"

"Nope. Well, maybe once."

"So, why didn't you?"

"Because I made a promise."

"What promise?"

"You know the one, in sickness and in health, til death do you part, that one."

Dad wasn't even religious. He never feared breaking his wedding vows because he would burn in hell or anything like that. It was simple to him. He made a promise, and you don't break promises. No matter what. Because if you can't be trusted to keep a promise when the going gets tough, what's the point in making one? It's easy to do the right thing, when it's easy to do the right thing. Doing the right thing when it's not the easy thing to do is what sets people apart.

And he was like this for everything. When I was growing up, I had to mow the lawn. Never got paid for it ("your payment is a roof, bed, and hot meals, I think that's a pretty good deal for an hour of work a week for six months"). It wasn't a terrible chore or anything, but sometimes I'd work long weeks at the store or have to be studying for exams and still need to do it. So I'd ask dad "when do I get a break?" and he'd say "when you make more money than me, I'll give you a break." Which was of course supposed to be impossible.

A couple of years later, at the store, one of my seniors broke his foot, and another got sick, and I got calls to work their shifts. I never said no to a call in (rule #1 was already helping me out!) and ended up working something like 150 hours over 2 weeks.

I get home and collapse on the couch. Dad comes in from his round of golf:

"Hey, why isn't the lawn mowed?" I was ready.

"You have your paystub for the last two weeks?

"Yeah."

"Ok, put it on the table."

I put mine on the table, and with all the extra hours, I ended up making something like $20 more than him.

"Remember the deal. I make more money than you, you mow the lawn.", then I braced myself for the inevitable argument.

"Yep, that's what I said. Ok. Way to go." That was his go-to compliment. Way to go. Not "WAY TO GO!!!", just, way to go.

And with that, he drank a glass of water, put his shoes back on, went out and mowed the lawn in oppressive heat, after having spent the day on the golf course. No complaints. And for the rest of the time that I lived with my parents, I never once complained about having to mow the lawn.

It would have been a really easy promise for him to back out of, ("But I still make more than you in a month, a year, etc."), but I respected him all the more because he knew that, I knew that, and he kept his word anyway.

3) Always get better, never have regrets.

Dad always wanted to be better at things. Even getting into his 60s, he still felt he could lower his golf handicap, even after completely redeveloping his swing from the ground up following a serious shoulder injury. Growing up, he always wanted to find a way to trim a few seconds off of a race time when he would be in boat races. It didn't matter than he was already winning nearly every race he was competing in, he was competing against himself and raising his own standard. Whatever he had his attention focused on, he tried to do it incrementally better. He'd always fiddle with this or that setting, this or that way of doing things, trying to improve. Maybe this is why I ended up enjoying change management.

Looking back, I don't recall a time where he ever beat himself up for a mistake he made, not in front of me anyway. The closest he'd come was say "awwww, jeez", then set about trying to fix whatever it was he had messed up. He was very hard on himself and expected a lot of himself, and would certainly acknowledge and apologize for any unintentional wrongdoing he may have committed, but he wasn't much for rumination. It was always about "how do I do better next time?" or "what can I learn from this?" or "how do I fix this?"

He'd tell me that he never really had much time to look back on things ("what's done is done") and that wishing things were different was just a waste of energy. If you wanted something to be different, you had get off your butt and make them different.

I know I'm a lot less of a hardass than my dad was (though I certainly have my moments), but really, doesn't coaching kind of boil down to getting someone to get off their butt and make things different, if they want something in their lives to be different?

4) Live According to Your Beliefs, but Know When They Need to Change

This is maybe the one I'm proudest of. Dad, until he was in his late 50s or so, was always kind of on high alert. He didn't really trust a lot of people, especially people he didn't know. Probably because he moved around a lot as a military kid, and probably reinforced by police and security work later. There was always a potential scam, always someone ready to take advantage of you. Which may be true, but in my experience, believing that eliminates a lot of things in your life that can go wrong, but also really limits opportunities that could bring a lot of benefit.

Dad also took a lot of pride in being a bit of a lone wolf. He wanted to have success on his merits, not because he knew someone who got him something. He really resented anything that looked like nepotism or any kind of politicking.

So, fast forward to his retirement. He's still doing some odd jobs here and there, keeping busy, but he's kind of starting to slow down. My stepmom convinces him to get off his butt and get involved with community work, tells him that he'd probably get a lot out of it. So he kind of dips his toes in the water, and before long, he's the local president of Crime Stoppers (because of course), then a member of the Lions' Club (!), then takes a term as President of the Lions' Club (!!!).

At some point he got put in charge of raising donations for a large local fundraising drive. And he calls me, because he can't wrap his head around approaching businesses for donations. Like, why would anyone just give him something because he asked them for it?

"So, you're pretty good at this networking thing, right?"

"I don't think anyone ever really thinks they're a good networker, dad."

"Yeah, but you wanted to move to a new city, and you basically got yourself a good job in a new city just by talking to someone who knew someone who knew someone, right?"

"There was a bit more to it than that dad, but yeah, sure."

"Ok. But how did you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you just tell people what you want?"

"You just do. Maybe that person can help you and maybe they can't, but if you don't tell them what you want, you never know, right? If you don't ask, the answer is always no. And you might ask for something 99 times and not get it, but you might get everything you want and more the 100th time. Typically, I believe that if people can help you, then they will."

"But you know that's not true. Why would you believe that?"

"Because I get more out of believing that it's true, than believing that it's not."

"<Brief silence>...But why would anyone want to help you?"

"Why do you like helping people, dad?"

"Because I like it. I like when people are happy, it makes me feel good, and I know if they do some good, then I'm partly kind of responsible for that. And if I'm advantaged by something, I should use that to help others."

"Don't you think other people might sometimes feel that way too? Or maybe have their own reasons for just wanting to help people? You're not the only beacon of light in the world, surrounded by pits of evil and despair, you know. I think people are more deserving of your trust than you think they are."

"...<silence>...<more silence>...<really, a long silence>...I'll have to think about that."

I had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. This was a guy who, long after he should have been too old to do so, would, after windstorms, throw his chainsaw into the back of his truck and help cut up felled trees and haul them away. Just because he could and thought it was the right thing to do. But he didn't think anyone would ever really help him out if he asked them.

I wasn't sure that he was really going to change his mind on this, but he had never really had a long, pondering silence during one of our conversations before.

The next thing I know, he's diving right in. Meeting with local business leaders, growing a huge social network, engaging with the community. In his late 60s, he was questioned on one of the beliefs he had for probably his whole adult life, found that it no longer served him, and left it behind. He was stubborn about a lot of things, but was ready to have his mind changed, especially as he got older and saw that there was more than one acceptable way to do things.

That's kind of why his passing, while already tragic, hit us so hard. He was really just starting to leave a lot of those limiting beliefs behind and becoming the leader that was always laying just below the surface. So much could have been learned from his example, but he tended to be just a bit too gruff to have others really listen to him, and it was so hard for people to live up to his expectations. But that was starting to change. He, contrary to what 18 year old me would have believed, was actually starting to mellow with age, and he was allowing himself to be happy, and it was having a positive impact on those around him as well.

When he passed, there were so many cards and gifts from the community that they had to be stored in large Tupperware boxes. Not bad for a guy who in a lot of ways, was just getting started.

So whenever I feel like I'm kind of stuck in my ways or limiting myself, I think about that call, and how quickly dad seemed to just drop a belief he'd had for as long as I could remember, and set about changing. And I think about how stubborn and self-righteous I thought he was when I was younger. And I think wow, if he could come all that way but still stay true to himself, then what's my excuse?