Remember Me...

This lesson was a difficult one to learn. Why? Because on more than one occasion, I have not remembered.

Photo courtesy of QuiKe Photography & Video

I learned this from my father, but it wasn't a lesson he taught in a phrase. Nor was it an observation made based on a pattern of behavior I saw in him. He never asked to be remembered. And while I know that he would appreciate being remembered (everyone does you know) he is not the kind of man who would ask to be. I learned this lesson by looking at him and realizing how valuable his life and influence are to me.

I remember, on one occasion, having an opportunity to introduce a panel of guests to a platform. There were several gentlemen there, distinguished in their field, who were to address the conference. My father was on the platform as well, but he was not speaking at this event or sitting on any panels. His role was similar to mine. It was minor. When I spoke, one by one, I mentioned every man on the stage. Every one except my father. He took his turn and shared his part and I wouldn't have given it another thought except that someone brought it to my attention that I spoke of every man with good and kind words, but I did not mention my dad. I didn't remember...

I remember another occasion, when I shared with a gentlemen who had become my mentor some details of a decision I was wrestling with. In order to give him a clearer picture of my situation, I shared a little history to provide context for the decision. After I received the counsel of my mentor, and after I began to implement it, I realized I hadn't gotten any input from my father. I didn't remember... 

Those two experiences (and many, many others) taught me to remember my father. I learned that his experience, wisdom and input are invaluable. Even if I don't agree with him or if I think I know what he'll say, it is worth hearing him say it. Here are a few reasons why:

My dad is one of the most humble men I know. He is down to earth and a little plain. "Arrogant" or "unsociable" or "unapproachable" are no where near the radar when it comes to describing him. If you knew him, you wouldn't say he had an iota of flamboyance.

My dad is smart. He has no letters behind his name, but he is observant. He listens, That's more than can be said of many men I know. That one trait alone make him more intelligent than most.

My dad is caring and kind. There is no clearer picture of this than in the way he raised my siblings and I. And in the way he continues to care for my brother, David, who has cerebral palsy. He and David share a unique bond forged in laughter and service. Everything important I learned about service I learned from my dad. I've been to conferences and read books on the topics of servant leadership and service learning and service "everything else," but they didn't show me a servants heart. My dad did that.

My dad is generous. He has sacrificed time and time and time and again to give. Whether it be to a stranger or to a friend or most of all to his family, my dad has shown what it means to give till it hurts.

My dad is  a thousand other great things. As my siblings or my mom and they will tell you. Ask his siblings or in-laws and they will tell you. Ask the people who now him well, the people he works with or the people who have only met him once or twice and they will have good things to day about David L Mouton.

And if you ask me, I will tell you as well. I will remember. 

I am grateful for every lesson I learned from my father.

Fight!

My first fight was in elementary school. Like most school fights, I have no idea what we were fighting about. I don't even remember the other kids name. It was probably something tragically insignificant. We most likely started to fight only after being goaded on by our classmates. I remember taking off my shirt. It was a particularly nice shirt and I didn't want it to get dirty. The noise increased, the crowd gathered, and we went at each other.

Funny thing is, I don't believe either one of us actually landed a punch. We just tussled around until someone told a teacher. No one "won." The worse thing actually happened after the fight when I went to retrieve my shirt and found out it had been stolen.

Now, my dad didn't hear about the schoolyard fight and decide to teach me how to fight. As far as I know, he didn't find out at all. And while I knew he was quite capable of hand to hand combat (my dad is a Marine) I never asked him to teach me how fight and he never offered. And I mean never. My dad didn't teach me how to form a fist or how to hit or follow through with a punch. We didn't even play wrestle. But he did teach me to fight.

Knowing how to do something and knowing to do something are two different things.

I learned from my schoolyard experience that some fights are not worth the time or energy. I also learned that you might not win and end up with less than what you started with (i.e. my nice shirt). I learned from my father that some fights are worth the time and energy and pain and frustration and annoyance and tension and everything else that comes with them.  The difference is the kind of fight. A schoolyard fight is almost never worth it. But fighting for your marriage or your family or your integrity - always worth it.

One example: My parents celebrate 34 years of marriage today. That is remarkable for several reasons, the primary reason being that marriage is hard. To make it worse, he didn't have a father to show him how to be and stay married. His dad was not in his life. He could have used the absence of his father as an excuse to leave his wife and his children. He didn't. He could have used the fact that he had five children all under 7 years of age as an excuse to leave. He didn't. He could have given up when he faced seemingly insurmountable obstacles in raising his family and loving his wife. He didn't. Things became difficult. If you ask him, he might even say they still are. He could have found any excuse he wanted. He didn't. We don't hear about longevity like that in marriage often. I am thankful for their example.

I mentioned that my father didn't have his dad as an example to teach him how. But, again, knowing how to do something and knowing to do something are two different things. My father taught me that. He may not have known how to lead and raise a family, but he was determined to do it. His determination was enough to get him started and he learned the rest along the way.

His is only one of hundreds of examples of understanding following action. The two clear takeaways from his example, though, are 1) determine what is important and what is at stake and 2) Fight for it!

Look it up.

I remember asking a lot of questions growing up. Most kids ask a lot of questions. I was no exception, asking and enquiring about this or that or the other thing. My father's response most of the time was the same: "Look it up."

He did not say this because he didn't know the answer. On the contrary, he probably knew the answer to many of the questions my little mind could think up. (The profoundly imaginative and perceptive questions which most children seem to instinctively explore not withstanding.) My father seemed to know everything. He was a wealth of interesting information about all kinds of things. He would talk about extremely practical things and share tidbits of scientific data. He would talk about rare plants and unique animals and stars and fish and you name it. From a kids perspective, my dad was brilliant!

I now know that there is a lot more information in the world than my dad or I could ever know. I no longer think that my dad knows everything. But my dad did know the most important thing. Here it is: When you don't know something, Look it up.

This simple phrase, repeated over and over again, with words and by example, taught me over time to love learning.  My father taught me that seeking the knowledge I wanted was just as important as gaining the knowledge I sought.

He taught me that books are valuable tools and assets which, if used well, would serve me long and hard and would always be full of reward. Indeed, the first books I put on my makeshift bookshelf were books I borrowed from him.  I remember reading his copy of E. M. Bounds' classic books on prayer and I still have his copy of Azusa Street on my shelf. I read his copy of The Most Dangerous Game and learned to enjoy fiction as well as non fiction. My own personal library is what it is due in part to his often repeated phrase, "look it up."

Now, with most information only a few clicks away and in the palms of our hands, we have no excuse for ignorance. We can learn and know if only we take the time to look it up!

Measure Twice, Cut Once

You may have heard this before. It certainly isn't new or original. But it is most definitely relevant. It just makes sense. I learned this from my father.

Trained as a carpenter, he understood the importance of measuring twice and cutting once. Time, energy, money and tangible resources are wasted if this simple rule is ignored or overlooked.

It takes only a moment to look again. A few seconds and you're done. You can continue pressing forward with added confidence. But, if you miss this, you take an unnecessary risk. You could come out okay, which would be great. Or, you could cut long. That's not so bad. Just cut again, right. Sure, but you could have done it better the first time. Hopefully you learn...

But what if you cut short? That piece is ruined. You can't get that length back. You get the picture by now, I'm sure.  

In Life and in Business and in Marriage and in Whatever else you've got going, it's a good idea to take a few moments to avoid a mistake than to make a mistake at the expense of a few moments.