My father has always been the hard working type. He spent most of his life as a career firefighter, doing everything from heavy rescue to wildland firefighting. Before he decided to make his career public service, he worked in the trades, always keeping his skills fresh by working on projects around the house whenever he could find the time. Recently, my dad undertook the project of building a playset for Mads. 

Over the last several days he’s been out in the 90° heat putting together what will very soon be a magical fortress resembling anything Mads can imagine. Today, he was out pouring cement to provide a sturdy anchor for the playset to rest on. Naturally, I decided to help him so the job would move along a bit faster and he could come in from the heat a bit sooner. Helping my dad got me to thinking about my childhood. 

When I was a young boy, one of my favorite things to do was help him with his various tasks around the house. From yard work and fixing cars to building things and lifting heavy objects, I was ready to try my hand at anything he did. Though, as most little boys, my skills were more in line with that of a flashlight holder or gofer, but it never stopped him from letting me try.

As an adult I’ve often teased my dad that the only thing he ever taught my brother and I to do was curse, hold the flashlight, and get yelled at. Funny as it may be, it is also as far from the truth as it could actually be. 

In the time that he spent with us, he taught us the value of hard work, dedication, and sweat equity. He helped build the forms of the men that we would become. Just like he did for the concrete he poured today, he worked hard to make sure the foundation would be sturdy. 

Over time, my mother and father worked hard to fill those forms with knowledge, values, and love. As I watched my dad pour the cement into the forms, spread it, and shape it I felt proud to know that he and my mom had done the same for me.