Continuing the post we began last week about how the way I was raised formed my business philosophy…
While in high school, I got my drivers license at the age of 16. My family lived 11 miles from town. My first car was a 1966 Ford Mustang, and I was so proud to be driving. I probably washed that car three times a week at home, and my friends and I would get together and wax our old vehicles a couple times a year.
I distinctly remember asking my parents if I could go out with the boys one Friday night shortly after having my own set of wheels. They looked at each other, and my mother told me, “Sure, go ahead.” When I inquired as to if there was a certain time they would like for me to be back home that night, my father replied, “Do what you want to, son.”
The boys and I went to a movie, then cruised 10th Street in Greeley, Colo., for a while to see which of our other friends were out and about. I got home about 10:30 p.m., and went to bed.
The next morning, my father woke me up at 7 a.m., and informed me that breakfast was almost ready. I got up, and we ate, and I worked with him until around 4 p.m.
The following Friday, I floated the idea past my parents that the boys and I were talking about stepping out again. My mother replied, “Sounds great.” As I turned to my father, he said, “Do what you want to, son.”
Being 16 years old and having no curfew seemed heavenly. We went out to dinner at the place in town that had the cutest hostess, caught the late movie and cruised 10th Street afterward for good measure. I got home at around 11:45 p.m., and went to bed.
The next morning, my father woke me up at 6 a.m. and said that breakfast was ready. It seemed a little out of the ordinary to me for a Saturday morning to have breakfast on the table and ready to eat at that hour. I got dressed, ate and worked with him until around 5:30 p.m. Well, I chalked it up to the concept that some days out on the ranch are just more demanding than others, and this was one of those days.
The next Friday, I mentioned to my folks that some of the boys were banging the drums to pal around together that night, and that I would like to join them. My mother mentioned, “I think it’s great that you like to go out. Have a good time…” As I looked my father’s way, he looked back at me genuinely, and said, “Do what you want to, son.”
What we wanted to do that night included a bunch of us playing basketball with the stereo up loud in the machine shop at the farm of one of our friends. After dark, we got some kicks as we sent some glow-in-the-dark, neon lime green golf balls into orbit out of a massive homemade water balloon launcher. Cruising the back roads in a 1958 Chevy Pickup with a crew shooting off whistling bottle rockets from the truck bed also seemed like a good idea.
My good buddy Terry Ruch reminded me the other day of a saying that’s common among the wise old farmers and ranchers where we live. It goes as follows:
“Nothing good happens after midnight.”
Well, that particular evening, midnight had come and gone, and us young bucks just weren’t ready to quit yet. Somehow, our 16- and 17-year-old minds deduced that nothing would better convey our fond sentiments for this smart, pretty, outgoing girl from our class better than stealthily heading over to her family’s farmyard and throwing rolls of toilet paper over some of the trees around their shop.
Laughing under your breath while chucking rolls of TP and watching as they unfurl themselves over cottonwood trees takes time. The logic escapes me now, but we got a lot of mileage out of it that night. I got home at around 1:30 a.m. Saturday morning and went to bed.
It felt as if I had just been asleep for a couple moments when I woke with a start. The sound of my father banging on the door to my room got my attention, and the light being turned on elicited the response of me wincing my eyes shut. As the sheet and blanket that had been covering me were yanked off from the foot end of the bed and hit the floor, I heard a definitive, “Get up—NOW.”
As I got dressed, I glanced quickly at the clock. It read 4:17 a.m..
There was no breakfast that morning. However, there was plenty of work all that day, which stretched on until it became too dark to see late that night. My hind end was dragging bottom that night, and all I wanted to do was get cleaned up and go to bed.
The following Friday night, I mentioned that a girl from school and I were planning to go to dinner and a movie. My mother sat up a little taller, and said, “That sounds nice…” I turned to my father, and asked if there was a certain time he would like for me to be home that night. He replied, “Do what you want to, son.”
I was home by 10:30 that evening and went to bed. My father courteously woke me up the next morning at 7:00 a.m. We made breakfast and worked until around 4 p.m.
As an adult, I am an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy. I’m a proponent of work first, then play.
These days, I can usually count on one hand how many alcoholic beverages I consume in a year. I’ve never been a big drinker—on the couple of occasions that I tied one on in my early twenties, I would wake up the next morning feeling like 170 pounds of crap that they tried to cram in a 100-pound sack. I felt the costs outweighed the benefits, and that was enough incentive for me to stop doing it.
When a friend recommends a book for me to read, I track it down, and read it. Setting aside a percentage of my income for investment comes as naturally as breathing these days. When I see an investment that meets my criteria, and I have what is needed to acquire it, I do.
I view life as being full of opportunities to learn and grow. It turns me on to imagine all the possibilities, and to take calculated risks as I get in the mix in life and methodically work to make positive things happen.
Thanks, Mom and Dad, for allowing me to make my own choices in life.
