Three lessons from my dad

It’s interesting to think about the impact your parents have on you and how it ripples out in the world years after you’re done being a child. I picked up a lot from my dad about how to act and live. What I find fascinating is considering how the life lessons he taught me during sports, schooling, and what I’d call “teachable moments,” I use in my professional life today.

My parents had their hands full raising three opinionated boys who all managed to find their own brand of trouble and success. Despite the wide-ranging personalities, they managed to raise us such that all three of us boys are productive members of society, with the degrees and the choices they wanted for us and never had themselves. I certainly don’t thank them enough for that.

This post is about my dad in particular and the life lessons he taught us. I don’t need to ask my brothers if these are true for them, because if you know them, it’s immediately evident these are core values.

Let them know you’re there

While certainly not the most important thing, it’s probably the most interesting. This lesson is about making sure people know you’re there. It’s not about being the best or being right. It’s about not being invisible.

Sports matter a ton to my dad. He’s the type of person who will wear his Milwaukee Brewers gear to Chicago to poke at the Cubs fans. In fact, if he’s traveling anywhere out of state, he’s wearing something Green Bay Packers, Brewers, or Milwaukee Bucks affiliated. Without fail. But he enjoyed playing them too. As a kid, I remember going out to the diamonds during the week while he played softball.

While he was my brothers’ basketball coach, he couldn’t be mine. So he had to settle for sharing his wisdom outside of games and practice. His biggest gripe about my performance was that I was too timid on the court. As he put it, “When you get out there, let them know you’re there!”

Now, most people would interpret this to mean shooting the basketball. And you’re right, that was certainly part of it. He loved telling the story about the rare instance he saw playing time on his church youth league team as a kid. The coach called his number, he entered the game, IMMEDIATELY jacked up a three, and was promptly benched by the coach.

So yes, he wanted me to shoot more. But he also pointed out that you can have an impact on the game beyond shooting. He was a big advocate of playing defense hard. After all, defense wins championships. All three of us boys were the ones sent in to shadow the other team’s best scorer, end to end.

And perhaps, just maybe, it went too far. Dad was perfectly fine with accumulating personal fouls. Provided they were smart fouls. There can never be easy baskets.

So when I got an unusual start in a game and quickly fouled a player at the three-second mark of the game, Dad’s outlook was, “Way to let them know you’re there, Tim!”

These days, there’s a lot less boxing out and hand checking in my life, but that lesson has sunk in pretty deeply. I can be counted on to ask a question, provide feedback, or challenge an opinion.

I’m appreciative of having this skill in my life. It’s helped me learn things faster rather than wallowing in confusion. I’ve built great working relationships, as people are more motivated when someone shows an interest in their work. Challenging opinions is definitely a double-edged sword. It makes it easier to stand up for others or help distill an idea to what’s necessary. Though admittedly, I do default to a contrarian perspective and have to work to be initially agreeable.

The next time you get an opportunity, remember what Dad says: “Let them know you’re there!”

Loyalty matters

I’ve never thought much about loyalty in my life, but it has likely had an outsized influence on it. A lot of this can be drawn directly back to my dad. When he cared about something or someone, there wasn’t another option.

The most obvious was sports. As I mentioned, he’s a sports fanatic.

My dad’s the type of fan that when the Packers lose on a Sunday, he’s pissed off until Wednesday. Probably when the sports radio conversation shifts from talking about the previous game to being hopeful about the upcoming one.

When Brett Favre came out of retirement, my dad was happy for him. But when Favre chose to play for the rival Minnesota Vikings, I never heard my dad say a good thing about him again. Years of dedicated fandom disappeared. His loyalty was to the organization, and his brand of fandom is ride or die.

And what’s insane about this is that my dad was born in the 1960s. He lived through decades of absolutely crap sports teams. For years the Packers were awful. I remember growing up when it was exciting that the Bucks or Brewers were just in contention to get to the playoffs, much less win a playoff game.

How or why he developed such a deep passion for these teams is beyond me. All I know is that it made its way into me too. I may not be as devout in my fandom these days, but there’s no question about which teams I root for.

Beyond sports, though, this zealous loyalty shows up in me professionally. I know there are other languages than Python and other frameworks than Django, but there’s something irrational about my preference to use those. I still explore other options, but it takes a real effort for me to pick something else. The benefit here is that it’s allowed me to focus deeply on these tools. By remaining committed to these tools over a long period of time, I’ve been able to form excellent friendships and have a significant impact on the community.

My personal brand of loyalty is expressed by showing up. If a friend asks me to review their work, I’m doing a deep dive on it to provide thorough analysis. When someone has invested any amount of effort in our relationship, I will go out of my way to reward that person the best I can. I’ll be there.

And obviously, Go Pack Go!

Do the work

The last life lesson from my dad wasn’t something he preached. He just did it. Working hard, for whatever reason, was a constant in our family. Now, I’m not talking about hard work like working on a farm. Hard work here simply means showing up and putting in your best effort for the whole day.

So as I mentioned, Dad didn’t preach this. He wasn’t shouting, cursing, or cajoling us to get up for school and work. He basically just set the standard from as far back as I can remember. His job at the chemical plant required him to be out of the house at 6am, Monday to Friday.

I remember tagging along with him to local businesses to vacuum carpets, clean toilets, and buff floors for his side business. As a quick aside, I had to remind him recently about his own entrepreneurial spirit when he was telling me how impressed he was with my ability to try things on my own.

Though the best indication of his work ethic was when he wanted to earn extra money to pay for going to Nationals for bowling. He picked up a second job at Wal-Mart, where he stocked shelves in the meat department. His shifts were Wednesday nights, after his full-time job ended, every Saturday, and every other Sunday. Obviously the Sunday shifts had to be scheduled around Packers games, but beyond that, the guy was working 13 out of 14 days every two weeks.

He did that for more than a decade.

Like what the crap. Who does that? It’s mind-boggling. It’s not like he particularly liked his work. He always had something to complain about, but there was a job to be done, and he was there to do it.

And once again, this is something that I’ve inherited. Maybe not a 13-out-of-14-days work ethic, but I’m entirely comfortable doing work. When I was in college, I had arranged my class schedule to maximize my work hours. I optimized it to the point where I was able to get 30 hours of work in per week while still doing all my studies. My manager had to actually check in with me to make sure I was still going to school.

As an adult, it’s morphed into being willing to do the grunt work. Having this type of work ethic has been incredibly advantageous. It’s what allows me to persevere when the work gets tedious or there’s adversity. I think it’s what helped me do so much of the governance work across my communities. It’s not that I find writing those documents, coalescing opinions, and revising language for the umpteenth time super enjoyable, but it was something that needed to be done, and I was there to do it.

Thanks, Dad

I’m extremely grateful for these life lessons that I’ve turned into personality traits. If you’ve worked with me, you’ve likely seen them firsthand, and now you know where they come from.

Dad, I don’t think parents often get to see how it all turns out. I hope this helps you see the impact you’ve had on me and the gratitude I have for you. Love you, and thank you!