Flashlight-Holding 101: A Father's Teaching Tools

In the 1950s, fathers were supposed to dispense advice to their children based on the expectations created by TV shows like "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet" and "Leave It to Beaver." Life's lessons were to be passed on as gems of wisdom.

However, in my own home there were never any of these TV-style father-and-son moments at the dinner table. We had no heart-to-hearts on the front stoop.

My father's method of imparting advice wasn't direct or even obvious, but in his own way Dad made sure he passed on the guidance that would help me through life. He was a tinkerer and I was his young apprentice.

One of my earliest memories was helping him fix our blue '51 Dodge Coronet. I was 5 or 6 years old and it was very cold and very dark. Dad was bent over the engine trying to change a particularly stubborn spark plug. My job was to keep the flashlight aimed exactly where he was struggling.

I was mostly thinking about anything but the work at hand. As my mind wandered, so did the beam of light. Every few minutes Dad would remind me, "Jack . . . the problem is here," as he tapped the wrench on the engine. "Shine the light where I'm looking, not where you're looking! Your job is to make my job easier."

As I grew up, I prided myself on becoming a flashlight pro. I would keep an eye on Dad and anticipate his need by moving the beam over to a new spot without being asked.

The Flashlight Lesson stayed with me. As an entrepreneur, my days can be chaotic. I may not have a literal flashlight to shine, but I often find myself saying, "Keep focused on the problem."

As I grew older, the projects with Dad grew more complex. We replaced my grandmother's front door (we'll call that the Patience Lesson). We built a bookcase, even cutting our own boards (the Clear Communication Lesson). We repaired a mower (the Know When to Call an Expert Lesson).

One of Dad's last lessons came when he was over 90 years old, with limited mobility.

I was at my parents' house and Mom mentioned that the kitchen sink was leaking.

"Let me take a look at it," I said. I went downstairs to Dad's workbench and found the pipe wrench and other tools I needed in the same exact locations they had been for decades (the ongoing Organization Lesson).

I contorted my body under the sink and began working. Some of the plumbing was older than I was. Dad painfully dragged a chair over and sat down to watch.

Parts bent. Knuckles were barked. I know he probably had some great suggestions and ideas about what I should be doing, but every time I came out to get a different tool or stretch my back, Dad would only say, "You're doing great. You're making good progress."

After several hours, we turned on the water. There were no drips or drops from any of the new fittings. Dad beamed as broadly as I did.

He knew that there comes a time when the teacher has done all he can and the student is ready to stand on his own.