On Becoming a Man

Upon returning home after spending four days in San Diego celebrating my grandson’s birthday and enjoying Father’s Day with three of my children, I wanted to post a Father’s Day tribute in honor of my Dad. But, as happens, I was overcome by events at home and at work and didn’t get it done. Perhaps that was a good thing because it gave me time to remember that in 1998 I sent my Dad a letter that I think was, and still is, a fitting tribute for Father’s Day. I’ve decided to post that letter as my enduring tribute.
___________________________________________________________

June 21, 1998

Dear Dad,

I want to take another opportunity to say, Happy Father’s Day 1998. Each year it’s difficult to find a Father’s Day card that says the right thing for you. I’ve never cared much for the standard Hallmark card, with their syrupy rhymes that are both bad poetry and poor sentiment. When I look back over nearly 50 years of a father-son relationship, it just can’t easily be put into a card. Relationships between men aren’t that simple.

I was very excited to find the heavy construction equipment book as a Father’s Day gift for you. It jumped off the shelf at me, not just because it obviously related to your long career in the construction industry, but because it was a symbol about you. Your accomplishments over the years are as large as the equipment shown in that book. You’ve built big things in many places, and they will stand a long time as a monument to your work.

I remember Dean Rex Lee telling us on the first day of law school that the monument to a lawyer’s career is a five-drawer, Steelcase filing cabinet, and that if any of us were troubled by that prospect we should reconsider our choice of professions. I’ve thought about that remark many times over the years, not just as a commentary on what an attorney leaves behind, but as a comparison to what my Dad has done.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve said to my children, “Granddad built this highway … that dam … this railroad.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve told a friend, “My Dad built the dam at Courtright Reservoir … the railroad across the Great Salt Lake … the highway through the Virgin River Gorge … the dam on the Ord River in Western Australia.” You’ve left your marks in the earth, Dad, and it will be many, many decades before time has worn away those marks, and some of them will last for generations.

I’m very proud of my father, and I hope that you’re proud of all you’ve accomplished. You are a true, American success story. A young man comes out of a less than modest country life in central Arizona, and without the benefit of formal education or family influence he builds a career that literally spans the globe. It’s a great story; it’s a wonderful life.

But, Dad, that professional legacy is certainly not the most important gift you’ve given me. You are a big man in my life for reasons other than your marks in the earth – you’ve left even more important marks in my life. Let me sum it up in one sentence. Above all else, Dad, you have taught me how to be a man. More than any other personal influence I’ve known, my sense of what it means to be fully and truly a man has come from your presence in my life.

What does that mean to me? It means you’ve taught me how to work, and how to work hard, and how to provide for a family. It means you’ve taught me how to be strong, enduring, independent and responsible for my life, and for the well being of those who are dependent on me. It means you’ve taught me honor, loyalty, courage, commitment, and dedication. It means you’ve taught me the equal value of education and experience, and have then provided the opportunities to gain both in abundance. But, above these, there is one other lasting legacy from you that will forever shape and direct my life.

You have taught me integrity. And by that I mean, you’ve taught me to fully integrate my actions with my values and beliefs. That is the only way to be a whole person, and it ranks as one of the most critical lessons I’ve learned in my life. It’s the basis of honor and courage. Heaven knows, there have been times when I didn’t share a value or agree with a belief of yours, but you’ve always held your values and beliefs honestly and sincerely and I’ve never seen you act contrary to them. In my mind, that is a monument greater than the Ord River Dam or the Great Salt Lake Causeway.

There is another gift you have given your family, and that is an honorable name. There has never been a moment in my life when I wasn’t proud to be known as the son of Guy Reid. I’ve been introduced that way, and I’ve introduced myself that way, each time knowing what it meant to the person hearing it. It has always meant I would receive a knowing smile, a warm greeting, a firm handshake, and an open door. Your name and your reputation have helped cut a path for me on many occasions.

Well, if I’m not careful this letter will begin to sound like a Hallmark card; which brings me to the card I’m sending with this letter. Barbara found it and liked it immediately. At first, I wasn’t too wild about it. But, as I’ve read it several times and as I’ve written this letter it now seems very appropriate, because of two lines in it –

He stands like a giant …
A towering presence

That’s not a bad summary, Dad. I wish you many Happy Father’s Days to come.
____________________________________________________________

My Dad only celebrated one more Father’s Day before he died in March 2000. I am grateful that he got to read this letter. I miss my Dad, because there are too few giants in the land; too few men who stand as a towering presence. I am honored to be the son of such a man.