One fall Saturday years ago, my dad and I were running errands together. I was a high school student still trying to figure most things out, the fourth of five children and the second son. My dad was a senior manufacturing executive with J.I. Case (i.e., what is now Case IH). Someone who had been reporting to him had recently left that part of the organization for an opportunity that could lead to that person going higher on the org chart than my dad. I asked my dad how that felt. He had hired this man. He had led him, given him opportunities. I figured it might be discouraging to my dad or might feed self doubt. I still am not sure what drove me to be that bold with a question to my dad that morning. For whatever reason I asked.
My dad's answer that Saturday morning surprised me. He said his job was to find good people, pour into them and help them succeed whether that meant they stayed in that team, moved to another team or business unit or left Case altogether. It was his job to help these people develop even if it meant that man or woman went higher or farther in their career than my dad did. I didn't know what to say. So I said, "That must be hard." My dad replied, "Yes, it can be hard. But it is my responsibility to help them." Now I really did not know what to say. I was quiet.
My dad's answer was candid. He did not deny that living out that purpose could be hard, really hard. But he did not let the hard stop him from being a people developer. My dad's answer that fall morning shaped the type of man I would become. I wanted to be a leader. I wanted to help others develop.
I never told my dad how much that short but poignant conversation impacted me. I wish I had told him. His earthly life came to an end 21+ years ago just 3-1/2 weeks after being diagnosed with liver cancer. Hopefully he saw it. I trust he did see it. I say that because my dad practiced the same approach with me. He had high expectations. He was in my corner. He listened to me. He helped me plot my university and career plan. He was my biggest cheerleader. While I missed the opportunity to tell him about the impact of that conversation, I still have opportunities to be a good steward of Dad's investment in me. I welcome those opportunities. I choose to help people develop wherever I can.
My dad's answer that Saturday changed my definition of success. It still drives the type of leader I strive to be.
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