Losing Power, Gaining Perspective

Have you ever noticed how much we take electricity for granted? We flip hundreds of switches a day without ever giving a second thought the electricity won't be there. We're so used to power on demand that if it ever does go out we're caught off-guard.

Awhile ago the area where I live was a victim of an EF3 tornado. Fortunately, my house only experienced a few missing shingles, a tree pushed over, and some fence blown down. I was very blessed when compared to others who lost their homes and possessions.

However, we all were without electricity -- and not just for minutes or hours, but for days. It was then I understood just how much I take instant power for granted. I had to scramble to figure out how to charge the phone (a car charger works fine); get up in the morning (a wind-up alarm clock does the trick); and wash the dishes (dish detergent in a sink full of water still does the job). Each day I'd walk into a room (sometimes several different times), flip a switch, and expect a burst of light -- only to be reminded there was no juice. Here's where flashlights come in handy, by the way. My problems were compounded on Sunday afternoon when, sitting down to watch golf, I hit the power on the remote and, you guessed it, no TV.

Following the lead of my ancestors, I grabbed a book to read.

This got me to thinking, and I started contemplating all the other things in my amenities-rich life I took for granted: fresh water, frozen food, sizzling bacon, country music, news broadcasts, microwave meals, and the list kept growing.

Soon I shifted from things to people. Topping this list are my wife and kids. More often than I care to admit I take these choicest of gifts for granted. I didn't have to think very long on how glad I was they were in my life, but yet how infrequently I let them know this. It was then I resolved to move them from the taken-for-granted list to the lucky-I've-got-them list.

Being without electricity is one thing, an inconvenience to be sure. Being without the people who matter most to me, well, that's a problem the local utility company just can't fix.

And then, staring at the lifeless TV, I thought how Father's Day is coming up. I think this year I'll let my wife and kids know how very thankful I am to be her husband and their dad.

Numbering Our Days

Can you remember back when you were a small boy? For many of us, nights were times fraught with fear, as we knew there was a horrible, boy-eating monster lurking in the closet, waiting for the lights to go out. In the dark it would spring out and gobble us in one bite. For some of us the horrible monster was the older brother in the bed beside us, who took great pains to insure our sleep would be marred by dreams of flesh-eating bugs, snakes and other monsters.

For others of us, childhood fears matured into more frightening phobias like arachnophobia, acrophobia, trypanophobia, pteromerhanophobia and the ever-popular glossophobia. But no matter if your childhood fears translated into an adult fear of spiders, heights, injections, flying or public speaking, one thing is almost certain: we all have fears.

As we age we may fear losing our hair, our job, our income, or our ability to rank highly on Google. Men often begin to fear their own aging when they bury their father. As we stand beside dad's casket, we're reminded it is us who now keep the family's hopes, dreams and honor. No longer will we be able to call dad with a question about relationships, finances, our future goals, or just to bask in his wisdom. We now are the ones to be called, and we fear letting our family down.

One of the fears of aging is the sobering realization our days are numbered, and there is less time we can make our mark on this world. For men, leaving a legacy is a big deal. No matter our station in life, we want to be remembered -- and if possible, fondly. A boyhood fantasy of putting one out of the park in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series with two down, a full count, and bases loaded -- and his team behind by three runs -- is a young boy's hope of leaving a permanent mark of greatness on the world that will stand the test of time.

Many men consider a lasting legacy something that is tangible: a building, a policy, a speech, an event. Some men have edifices named for them; others have their faces carved in stone; others have their figures memorialized in marble or bronze.

While this is all well and good, it's my contention the greatest legacy a man can leave is the values he passes on. Fathers have the distinct ability to influence future generations through the lives of their children. Men who mentor youth create bridges between generations and have the power to extend their positive influence through these relationships -- and through the relationships those they mentor have with others.

Having your name etched in the side of a building is dandy, but when your great-grandkids can say, "I am honest because that's what my great-granddad taught our family," then you have laid a cornerstone for something that will truly last.

Be Spontaneous

There is much to be said about pre-planning and minimizing risks, especially when one is preparing for retirement, a dream vacation, or building a house. These endeavors require superb attention to detail to decrease chances for failure. Keeping surprises to an absolute minimum when planning for retirement, dream vacations, or building a house is always a good thing.

But ... there's also something to be said for sheer spontaneity.

Think back to when you were a kid. What memories come to mind? How about as a teenager or a young adult? Is there anything you can recollect from those days that left an indelible impression on your mind, as a result of some spur of the moment decision?

I can think of a couple. One evening I asked my mother a question. It was a simple enough query: "What's for dinner?"

She responded, "Ice cream sundaes!" Now that meal is definitely in my top-ten list of memories. She caught me completely off-guard. As a result, her spontaneity -- along with her exquisite choice of cuisine -- is fondly recalled today.

On another occasion my brother came to visit me in Michigan. We were talking about Niagara Falls and how we went there as kids. One thing led to another, and we decided if we left immediately we could be there in ten hours. So we did. That's another entry in my top-ten list of never-to-be-forgotten days.

Spontaneous events aren't just supposed to happen to kids though; spouses also savor an out-of-the-blue suggestion once in a while. Here's three to get you thinking: a surprise dinner at a favorite restaurant of hers; a Saturday afternoon movie (again, with a flick she likes); the miraculous appearance of a babysitter 15 minutes before you whisk her off to hockey game. These are all wonderful experiences to be warmly recalled later.

Naturally, planning and routine have their place and function in our world, but the occasional spur- of-the-moment, unplanned event can create a memory lasting a lifetime. Sometimes, too, those really big, unplanned moments even become part of the family's lore and history -- like when my grandpa said "yes" to a blind date at the drop of a hat.

It was that event -- way back when -- that eventually kick started our family -- and all the kids, grandkids, marriages, and everything else that has gone along with it.

Spontaneity ... who knows what it will bring?

Honor

In early medieval times, one's "honour" (honor) was defined as the group of manors or lands one held. Thus an honor was an estate that gave the owner a certain dignity and status. Hence if one would say, "on my honor" he was pledging his estate as surety that he would fulfill his pledge or forfeit the estate. To pledge one's honor was not something taken lightly.

Medieval knights lived their lives by a code of honor, commonly known as the Knight's Code of Chivalry. Among the various nuances of the Code of Chivalry, the concept of "honor" was at the core. Knights vowed to respect and protect the honor of women, guard the honor of fellow knights and live an honorable life in word and deed.

Today a man of honor is one worthy of respect, usually having earned it through honest actions, high morals, and fair dealings.

When a man of honor pledges "on my honor," he no longer pledges on his estate, but on his reputation and good name. A man of honor will keep his pledge or forfeit his position of honor.

As the United States honors fallen veterans, it is fitting we look beyond the sacrifice they made -- beyond their military record -- instead, we need to look at the person inside the uniform.

There we will discover a person of honor. We will find a person worthy of respect, which has been earned through honest dealings; a person of high morals who treats others fairly. And just like the medieval knights, we will see a person who is honest and upright, defending his country, preserving the dignity of others, living a life of integrity and worthy of emulation.

It is altogether fitting we honor our fallen comrades. However, thankfully, one does not have to fall in battle to be a person of honor.

Men, let us strive to live honorable lives. Let us be fair, just and respectful. Let us pledge to uphold the honor of those unable to defend themselves. Let us respect and defend the honor of all women. Let us be true leaders in our family, in our community, and in our workplace who daily display honor and respect.

Let us take seriously the promise, "on my honor," and by our actions and attitudes live lives worthy of honorable mention.

Man of Integrity

Dwight David "Ike" Eisenhower, 34th president of the United States, five-star general in the United States Army, and supreme commander of the Allied Forces in Europe during World War II has commented thusly: "The supreme quality for leadership is unquestionably integrity. Without it, no real success is possible, no matter whether it is on a section gang, a football field, in an army, or in an office."
Integrity is defined as the quality of possessing -- and steadfastly adhering -- to high moral principles or professional standards. The mark of a man of integrity would be a man who consistently lives out high moral principles, even when no one is looking.

It has been my ongoing goal to be a man of integrity, but I have found it increasingly difficult, as I am pressured to retreat from some values in the name of conformity.

For example, I try to obey the laws of the land, even those that govern how I operate a motor vehicle. Doing this, however, can be a mixed bag. Thus, when I am driving 60 mph in a 60-mph speed zone, I often become the recipient of moans, groans and comic pleadings from the back seat to step on it and go faster. Most often I hear, "Dad, everyone else is passing you. I can't believe you let yourself get passed by a mini-van. I just hope no one sees me in here."

Internally, I wrestle with the integrity issue. Do I maintain my values as a law-abiding citizen? Do I capitulate in order to save face in front of my children?

I struggle with the whole honesty issue too. Frequently, I hear of sports legends, Hollywood celebs, politicians and business leaders who are seemingly rewarded for their less-than-honorable actions. And this goes on while others choose the high road, making the tough decision to forego dishonest gain. Too often those that abide by the rules are overtaken by those who have figured out how to fold, bend and even break them.

Still, when it comes down to it, I'll continue striving to live a life of integrity, as best I can. I will stop at stop signs, keep my eye on the speed limit, and even give myself a penalty stroke when I play golf.

Even when nobody is watching.

Now that's the kind of courage even a guy like Ike would like.

You Do Matter

We've all been there. You run up to the store to grab a single item and get stuck behind some slowpoke engaging the cashier with idle chit-chat. It happened to me the other day as I found myself stalled behind an elderly lady. My usual impatience ran out even more quickly as this woman with the booming voice bore an uncanny resemblance to my grandmother. Locked in place with lines on both sides, I started paying attention to her conversation. Is it eavesdropping if she was speaking loud enough to be heard two aisles over?

The conversation started out with the usual discussion about the weather and how she hoped it would not rain over the weekend. I didn't see anything interesting there until she continued with why she didn't want rain: "The men in my church are going to change the oil for the widows and single ladies this weekend, and I sure want the oil in my car changed."

She continued. "Yes, there was one man in my church who started this service and now we have lots of kind men who are helping out us older gals. I'm on a fixed income, you know, and can't afford to take care of some things the way I should, let alone my car. It's good of these guys to help out, and there's no charge. Can you believe that? No charge! I am praying for good weather, and I sure thank God for these men."

She smiled at the cashier, paid for her few items, and left me standing there.

Men, what we do does matter; this woman is a testimony to how much it does.

I don't know what church she attends, but I'm encouraged by the fact that somebody had a good idea and others followed, giving their time, ability and finances to offer a simple service that is often taken for granted. This woman reminded me how something as basic as an oil change can mean so much. It meant so much she publicly thanked God for the guys who were doing it.

Wouldn't it be awesome if each of us found one simple way to provide a service to others?

The Shopping Trip

Every now and then my wife approaches me while I am watching a game on TV and asks me a question. I've learned the default for most wife questions is "Yes, dear," spoken with as much verve and enthusiasm as I can muster with a count of three and two, or it's fourth down and inches, or there are seven seconds left, or it's a long putt in a playoff, or any one of a number of other sports scenarios.

And here's how that default answer can get you in trouble. On a recent Saturday morning, I awoke to the announcement that this was the day my wife and I were going to pick out her new dress for the upcoming party.

Oh, goody!

Now I must admit my first words were not that well thought out, as I inquired when in the Sam Hill I would have ever consented to such a trip. She then reminded me of the "Yes, dear," reply I had given her just hours before in the final seconds of an NBA game. Not wanting to go back on my word, I headed to the mall, hoping the ordeal would soon be over, since the third round of that week's PGA tournament was being televised that afternoon.

Wandering into the dress section was pure revelation, I didn't know the store was that large; there was a whole floor dedicated to ladies' wear. She started through the racks, her eyes drawn to things like color, style and fit. As she shopped I flipped price tags from dress to dress. It was during this review, I made the mistake of laughing out loud and saying, "They can't be serious; the cost of this dress could feed a family of four for a week." And with that maladroit remark, all eyes within earshot were turned my way. I caught my wife ducking around the corner, shamed at my comment.

Well, it was now "game on!" I was determined to find her the perfect dress at a reasonable price. I queried her (tactfully) about her size, her preferred color and anything else that seemed important. I then headed into the maze of dress racks.

Finding the discount racks was easy, as they were all labeled "Discount Racks." Following the crowd I dove into the floral jungle and scoured every hanger looking for the perfect, bargain trophy. After a couple of stern glances and what felt like a body check thrown by a woman old enough to be my mother, I found three dresses that would do the trick -- all in her size and under $25.

Score!

I tracked down my wife and handed her the prized selections. She looked them over and with a measured response, said, "I'll try them on, along with the one I found."

I have to admit it's a whole different world waiting for your wife outside dressing rooms these days. This store nailed it too. They had couches, easy-chairs and ESPN on a large screen TV. As I settled in to watch Sports Center, my wife flitted in front of me and asked me about the dresses she had just shown me. My response to her vague question was, of course, "Yes, dear."

And with that, I emptied my wallet of another $200 and took home not one -- but two -- dresses.

The moral of the story: watching TV is expensive.