Author Archives: Greg Hague

About Greg Hague

I am an entrepreneur, attorney, author, motivational speaker, pilot, and world motorcycle traveler. First and foremost I am a dad. And, I am the founder of www.savvydad.com. My new book, How Fathers Change Lives, is a "Chicken Soup" collection of stories about remarkable dads... 52 examples of doing it right. What they say. What they do. Best advice. The stories are inspiring, touching and fun. The life lessons are great. This book has been recommended by some very special people including my friend, NY Times #1 Best Selling author Harvey Mackay ("How to Swim with the Sharks.."). In its first month it received over 50 five-star Amazon reviews. Learn more about Greg. Follow Greg on Google+

The Successful Bethel

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“Never fret for an only son, the idea of failure will never occur to him.”

—George Bernard Shaw

Today’s story is contributed by Dr. Klee Bethel.

When Savvy Dad asked me to share my dad’s best lesson, only one person came to mind — my son.

life success

Klee with David, his son, and grandsons Caden (age 13) and Brenner (age 8)

Growing up, I was taught that success was defined in terms of wealth and influence. A “successful” man had a tailor-fit wardrobe, a lavish home, and enough cars to fill an oversized garage.

As an ambitious young man, I saw my path to success in the medical field. In time I became a prominent doctor. A success, I thought. I tried to pass on my idea of success to my son, David. It was my duty, right?

But David didn’t see it my way. We were close in his adolescent years — best friends, I would say. But in his teenage years, we started to grow apart. I didn’t approve of his GPA in school. He didn’t approve of my second wife.

By the time David turned 20, and had his first son, we were estranged. I didn’t approve. His choices were all wrong. No college? Working as a waiter? His new wife merely a receptionist?

As a physician, I had made a good living, but eventually went bankrupt when the economy fell. I also divorced my second wife. As it turned out, I was not the portrait of success I had envisioned as a youth.

But my son… Today, at 33 years old, he is the most talented food server in the restaurant. He is deeply in love with his lovely wife, Sedina. They have two wonderful boys, Caden and Brenner, now 13 and 8. My son and his family live a remarkably happy life.

My son’s prescription for success is simple — being an amazing husband and a fantastic father to my grandsons.

success

David, Sedina, Caden, and Brenner.

After my second divorce, I finally “woke up.” I realized that my formula for success was shortsighted and wrong. My son was more successful than I had ever been. So, I decided to adopt his vision for success as my own!

Today, I am dedicated to being the best dad and granddad I can possibly be. I visit my son at his restaurant frequently. I attend my grandson’s football games. My daughter-in-law works with me in my medical practice.

As parents, David and Sedina have structured their lives to revolve around their kids. As a granddad, I now structure my life to revolve around them.

I always felt it was my paternal duty to show my son the path to happiness in life. Now, I look to him to show me the way. I consider it an honor to be part of his life.

Of the two of us, my son is The Successful Bethel.

success

Klee with grandson, Caden

Klee Bethel practices Interventional Pain Management in Mesa, AZ at the Beth-El Clinic. He is a board certified MD anesthesiologist who has focused on pain intervention for the past 12 years. Dr. Bethel has been an Emeritus member of the Board of Trustees at Southwest College of Naturopathic Medicine since retiring as its Chairman in 2009. He practices the art of medicine in both a traditional and non-traditional fashion. Dr. Bethel is also an associate medical school professor teaching a class in plant-based nutrition.

Best at Last

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“Our best successes often come after our greatest disappointments.”

—Henry Ward Beecher

Today’s story is contributed by William Homeier.

May 31, 1954
Lap 74 — The Indianapolis 500

wrong way

Homeier “swimming upstream” at Indy 500, 1954.


Dad pulled into the pit. The clutch had been giving him trouble all day.

Before his crew could finish, the clutch engaged.

The car spun around, slammed into the sidewall, and careened down the track in the opposite direction!

Not a good day for my dad.

My father still holds an Indy world record — the most laps ever completed by a last place finisher. Not the notoriety he was hoping for.

Did that set him back? Not MY dad! He was Texas-born and raised. When you got bucked off the bull, you got up, dusted off, and did it again.

midget car race

Midget car racing

After breaking his arm midget car racing in ’56, Dad bounced back to qualify for Indy again in ’58. However, like in ’54, it didn’t work out. Mechanical issues kept him out of the race.

Finally, in 1960, Dad’s luck changed — he finished 13th in the Indianapolis 500! While he didn’t win the race, it was more of a victory for Dad than it was for the guy who finished first.

Years later, in 1990, my father was interviewed in a special “Where Are They Now” article for The Star newspaper.

The headline?
“Homeier was best at being last.”

He laughed it off. That was my dad. Resilient. Loaded with get up and try again grit.

The lesson I learned from my Best at Last dad?

Winners don’t always cross the line first… but they never stop running the race.

Bill Homeier — my dad — A winner in every sense of the word.

Best at last

Truckin’ with Dad

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“It’s like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

—E.L. Doctorow

Today’s story is contributed by Marchell Mascheck

just being with dad

Sometimes, just being with dad is the lesson.

My father — a truck driver back in Kansas City, where we grew up.

My first driving lesson — a dark, deserted highway. It was very late at night.

Back then, cars didn’t have seat belts. They were giant, clunky vehicles with massive, oversized steering wheels. This was not exactly the most conducive configuration for a driving lesson, especially since I was three years old!

Yes, that’s right. A toddler. Daddy let me stand on the bench seat next to him. I was just tall enough to wrap my tiny arm around his large neck.

It was a simple and quiet experience, yet it remains one of the most profoundly memorable moments of my life. I can still remember standing on the leather seat, my feet faintly bouncing on the hard, uncushioned springs beneath.

Resting my head on Daddy’s shoulder, we just cruised down that black, empty highway for miles.

It was the best driving lesson of all time. Just being with dad. Sometimes it’s the only lesson in life — just being with those you love.

just being with dad

Family Portrait with Marchell (front right)

Marchell was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri. She attended University of Houston and St. Thomas University. She has been married to her husband, Carl, for 28 years and counting. She is a recruiter for The Alexander Group, and spends her leisure time traveling and honing her photography skills. She is also an avid motorcycle racing fan.

Knowing You’ll Die Brings You Alive

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Life lessons from Chubby (my dad) and other smart folks I’ve met on the road.

As a kid, I was scared about death. At night before sleep, lying in bed, I’d wonder what it was like. Would it hurt? The concept of “gone.” It didn’t seem right.
knowing you will die

 

I was also obsessed with the question, “Would I come back?” If I did, how would I know it was me? I had to ask my dad, Chubby.

One night after dinner Dad was practicing on his new Wurlitzer organ. (Play by number. Do they still have that?) I snuggled up to his side.

“Dad,” I said. “I’m afraid to die.”

He stopped, took his hands off the keyboard, turned with a smile, looked me square in the eye, and replied,

“Greg, knowing you’ll die brings you alive.”

I didn’t get this… Chubby went on:

“You have a tough math test tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well,” Dad said. “If you could put that test off for a week, would you?”
“Sure,”I answered.
“How about a year?” he said.
“Fantastic.” I replied.
Chubby’s eye’s lit up! His hands flew in the air.
“That’s the point,” he said. “Without deadlines, people put off what they know they should do. Then they look back with regret on a life that was less than it could have been.”

I had never thought about that. Death as a motivator for life?

Dad continued, “Most people are so afraid of dying they won’t let themselves think about it, they won’t accept it.”

Chubby said, “It’s silly to ignore what you know to be true. People should think more often about how quickly life will pass. It should be their #1 daily motivator. It should create a LIVE BIG mindset.”

BIG. BIG. BIG. Dad kept stressing “BIG” as he threw his hands high in the air.

He continued, “Too many people look back and wish darn well they had gone for improbable goals, taken more risks, overcome fear and lived BIG every day.”

“Instead,” Dad explained, “They ignore the inevitable. They live each day like life never ends. Then they get old, look back, and ask, ‘Where did it go?’”

I really got it then. I understood. Chubby wasn’t really talking about dying.

He wanted me to accept the reality of death as the motivation to not waste a minute, put aside fear, LIVE BIG every day and have a go-for-it life.

That was over 50 years ago. As I look back, do I have any regrets? You bet… The days I slept in.

knowing you will die

 

The Green Run

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“Fortune favors the brave.”

—Terence, Phormio 161 B.C.

The following story was contributed by Kelly Simmons.

go for it

Kelly and her dad

I was six years old.

I stood atop the mountain, looking down at the treacherous descent that lay before me. I wasn’t ready for this. Why had I agreed to such a perilous fate?

It was Dad’s fault. He was to blame! I was perfectly content inching my way down the bunny hill at snail speed.

But now, I stared down the barrel of a green run. Terror took hold as I watched my older sister, Kristen, zip down the slope.

“C’mon Kelly,” Dad urged, coaxing me out of my momentary paralysis.
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Tuesday’s Child

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nine-eleven

 

Peter Guza was doing what most any college kid would be doing that morning — sleeping in.

Today’s story is about Peter and Phil Guza.

His first class was at 10:00 a.m. The phone call woke him up before 9:00. It was a childhood friend from New York, bearing the horrific news.

Peter’s dad, Phil, worked in the World Trade Center. Peter ran downstairs, where the rest of his frat brothers were huddled around the television, watching in silence. The North Tower had been hit — Peter’s dad worked in the South Tower. His panic subsided only a little as he watched the terrible event unfold.
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It “Runs” in the Family

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“Passion is energy. Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you.”

—Oprah Winfrey

Today’s story is contributed by Sarah Mitchell.

One of the greatest lessons Dad ever taught me — it’s never too late to pursue a new passion.

never too old

Sarah, the youngest, sitting right in front of her dad.

He was 40 years old. Out of shape. He started running, a little bit each day. Every day, he ran a little farther. Eventually, it became a six-mile a day habit, and something that gave new passion to his life.

And it “runs” in the family, literally — Dad took my sister and me with him to his weekend races, where he almost always picked up a trophy for being the fastest in his age bracket. My sister and I caught the bug and have been ritual runners ever since. As I move into my own fourth decade, I find myself pursuing new passions very naturally, like surfing and aerial arts (think trapeze).
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