The last few years at times have been quite difficult to witness. Watching my Dad deteriorate for five years, and all that goes with this, makes remembering the “good” difficult. This emotional roller coaster was an endless ride, many times of just wanting to get off. But the reality continued on, making glimpses of the “past” challenging to see through the nightmare.

In his book, ORDINARY, author Michael Horton surmises our lives will be quickly forgotten in as little as one generation. I tend to agree. Just ask a 30-something “Who was Steve McQueen?” or “Who was Bert Reynolds?” Self-pride aside, it’s not the “stuff” we did or accomplished, but rather the influence we leave behind that lives to the next generation.

I was a sophomore in college in the early 80’s. I was not a good student in school, but certainly did my best to live the college “country club” life. It was the fall semester, and my Psych class had an exam that day. Exams were passed out to the 30 of us in the room. As the sounds went silent, my heartbeat went loud. Here we go. I might get a better grade if I stand up and start doing a tap dance to “Singing in the Rain.” Excellence in test taking was as foreign to me as a skinny guy at a fat camp.

For some reason, the professor removed himself from the room, and the class was alone. Within a couple of seconds, movement came from the guys on the hockey team. A couple stood up and started talking and sharing answers with those around them. These guys were decent enough fellows, friendly, and had none of that sports arrogance or ego. Eye contact from the team captain communicated to me “I know this is wrong, but I gotta do what I gotta do.”

To say I was upset witnessing this would be an understatement. It bothered me a great deal. I made a phone call to my Dad shortly thereafter where I explained the story. My Dad, who was always tranquil, listened and empathized. Where I had called and hoped for some agreement along the lines of, “Are you kidding me? Those idiots can’t get away with that!” This, however, was not what I heard.

His response offhandedly was one of calm. “So how did you do on the test?” He said.

“Ok, I guess,” I replied.

“Did you give it your best try, an honest shot? “ He asked.

“Yes.”

“And are you ok with that?” to which I mumbled in the affirmative.

“So, you gave it your best and honest effort. Can you live with that?”

Of course, I could. Leave it to Dad to talk me down off the ledge. My concern is and should be, only me, and I am content with what I did. I believe I got a “C” on that exam. I was ok with this. It did reflect back the efforts I put into that class. It was honest. Experience like this shaped me and has lived in me through the years. Much more important than any award, position, notoriety, or hobby my Dad may have enjoyed, he provided a great role model.

Thanks, Dad. I will miss you often.