All 19 of us had gathered on Main Street in downtown Frisco, Colorado, after the annual Fourth of July parade. Pockets were filled with candy tossed our way during the event, and now it was time to sort out transportation back to our rental home while accommodating a variety of evolving plans.
One vehicle would remain downtown for the six adults who wanted to linger, while the teenagers were eager to get back to the house for fishing, billiards, and hot tubbing.
Those transportation plans included our son Erik entrusting the drive home in his Ford F-150 to his 16-year-old son, Graham, with five other young men as passengers.
As Erik placed the keys in Graham’s hands, he communicated the weight of the stewardship Graham was about to assume. He also reminded him that the parking space was exceptionally tight.
“Be careful backing out,” Erik advised.
Because Graham wasn’t sure where the truck was parked, I offered to walk with him until we found it. The holiday crowd made for a surprisingly long walk. As soon as the white Ford came into view, Graham looked at me and asked, “Pops, would you back the truck out of the spot?”
Graham assumed that with 56 years of driving experience, my backing-up résumé exceeded his. He was right.
Once the truck was safely out of the parking space and the young men were buckled in, Graham took the wheel while I walked back to meet Mary and our five granddaughters for our own trip home.
As I walked, I found myself reflecting—not on the driving, but on Graham’s thoughtful and humble request. Wisdom had triumphed over ego, even in front of his cousins.
His willingness to ask for help both convicted and inspired me. At 16 years old, Graham understood that his portfolio of experience was still growing and that the risk of failure simply wasn’t worth what it might cost.
Ironically, at 71 years old, I should be processing life in much the same way.
To borrow the familiar investment disclaimer: Past performance is no guarantee of future success.
Just because I could doesn’t necessarily mean I still can. Yet there are moments when ego quietly overpowers wisdom.
“I need help” is not a sign of weakness.
“Would you please…” is not an admission of failure.
Graham understood that damaging his dad’s F-150 could limit future opportunities. That’s why he asked someone else to handle the one part of the task that exceeded his confidence.
And in doing so, he unintentionally challenged me to do the same.
Wisdom, not weakness.
An ego held in check.
Interdependence.
“I know me… and because I know me, I need you.”
Lesson received.
Thanks, Graham.
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