The author of this post was born in the ’60s, raised in the ’70s, and launched into the real world in the ’80s. I found myself in my formative years when it was still appropriate for the principal to take a paddle to your butt at will, we rode around in the back of pickup trucks without a second thought, and political correctness was practiced only in silos like Washington, DC and San Francisco. My generation was raised by fathers who would anger and use corporal punishment as a means to install just enough fear to hopefully keep us in line. As much as I hated living through those times I thank God for them today.
It was during those times that I had it drilled into me that “if you’re not five minutes early, you’re late” and other life lessons which were anything but cliché. When I was unable to go to college, I had to fall back on these life lessons that were drilled into me by one of the meanest sons of bitches you’d ever want to meet, my dad. So when I happened across this image of a white board today, I came to a screeching halt. There was my dad, again. And these words are just as true today as when they were forced upon me in a less than gentle way.
Today, I’m always early and I always try and do my very best. These lessons work(ed).
Eternal thanks, dad.