My 5 is For My Dad: Measure Twice, Cut Once
5 things I learned from Dad
This next year will be different — and that’s okay.
My dad, Jeff Reynolds, was a quiet, simple man. A man who, despite a frequent lack for words, would still manage to effortlessly command respect in any room he entered. Although I wish I could do so much more to honor Dad’s legacy, I feel like the simplicity of sharing a few nuggets of wisdom from my old man would be something that would have made him proud. My dad was never one to brag or toot his own horn, so I think it’s time that he got the spotlight — even if it is only for a brief moment.
1) Put one foot in front of the other.
Before my dad’s cancer became too severe, he was a big fan of his Fitbit. He would often get about 10,000 steps a day at work, followed by a long walk at the high school track or neighborhood mall (depending on the weather) for another 10,000 steps. His mobility was affected greatly due to his cancer, but he was always too stubborn to resort to a wheelchair. The phrase “put one foot in front of the other” rings more true to me now than it ever had before. Dad was a poster boy of perseverance (and just the right amount of stubbornness). With how crazy 2020 has been, his example has helped my family get through everything this year has thrown at us.
2) A fan in the stands.
Dad raised four boys and we all played baseball from an early age. Being the youngest of the bunch, I can only speak from my own experience, but I can’t think of more than a handful of games throughout my 14+ years of playing where my dad couldn’t be seen in the stands. He was never the guy that could be heard yelling throughout the entire complex. Rather, he’d share his insights with me throughout the game by a quick chat behind the dugout or standing over by 1st base to make sure that my head was in the game and I could visualize the next play. No matter where I was playing or what time it was, he would make the necessary arrangements to go out of his way to be there. Not only was he at almost every game, he was present. On our drives home after the games, we would recount many of the plays that occurred, detailing how it affected the outcome.
3) You gotta love it, baby!
I can vividly recall numerous occasions listening to the radio and hearing Hot Rod call another assist from “Stockton to Malone” while we sat in Dad’s rusty Toyota truck. As I got older, I observed that my dad was a quiet guy and it was often difficult to get him to open up. One thing we could always count on as a conversation starter around the dinner table was Utah Jazz basketball! When Dad was diagnosed about two years ago, my wife and I decided to give him an early Christmas present. We waited for three hours to meet Donovan Mitchell at a Stance store in the mall and we were lucky enough to meet Royce O’Neale there as well. We knew this gift would lift his spirits. He cherished that thing and even purchased a display case in order to show it off to everyone who came over to the house. True to form, Dad also displayed his collection of Jazz bobbleheads right next to his autographed ball in the front room for all to see. In his most recent years, my parents decided to purchase season tickets to attend games for the Salt Lake City Stars. Being able to cheer on the young Stars team was something that my dad looked forward to and it, no doubt, helped push him along through a mountain of treatments over the last two years. With frequent visits to the ICU, my dad would never have been found without his two constant companions: his wife of 42 years and his plush Donovan Mitchell blanket.
4) It’s never too late to have an adventure.
Later in my dad’s life, he rediscovered his love for fishing — and it was rediscovered in a big way. Through an acquaintance of his who ran a fishing lodge in Alaska, Dad jumped on the opportunity to go on a self-guided deep sea fishing tour not once, but twice in the last four years of his life. I was fortunate enough to tag along for the first trip where I witnessed my dad reel in a 73 lb. halibut while listening to Christmas music on his iPod shuffle. There was something special about him being up in Alaska that helped him feel like a kid again.
5) Work hard, love thoughtfully.
Anyone that knew my dad would say that he was a hard worker. He spent 35 years as a carpenter at Primary Children’s Hospital in the Engineering Department. I would sometimes get to help him with various carpentry jobs and even considered it a privilege to hold his screws and sweep the sawdust because he was always teaching me something. Often, he’d remind me of a common carpenter’s adage, “measure twice, cut once.” I love that Dad’s meticulous attention to detail has rubbed off on me.
When Christmas came around each year, he played a big part in coordinating the Festival of Trees, an annual holiday festival that would benefit the nearly 100,000 patients the hospital treats each year from across the Intermountain West. Despite working long hours, he would always find time to be with family and his grandkids were the light of his life. Once the grandkids came along, it was incredible to watch my dad turn into this big teddy bear that catered to every petition for a cookie or a Cheeto that came his way.
As a son who misses his dad, I’m going to honor him the only way I know how: by putting one foot in front of the other, being there, finding common ground, being a kid again, and stocking up on cookies because one day I’ll have grandkids too.
To all of you dealing with loss like my family is, our hearts go out to you. This next year will be different — and that’s okay.
Today, my 5 is for my dad. He taught me to live life meticulously by measuring twice and cutting once. #5forthefight #My5isFor
5 For The Fight on Medium crowdsources wisdom from those affected by cancer.
