My Dad Chubby Was My Mentor

“Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves, some turn up their noses; some don’t turn up at all.”
—Sam Ewing

by Greg Hague

my dad, my mentor

My ‘no-eyelids’ dad

When I was a kid, Dad didn’t sleep. On weekdays, he’d leave each morning at 8, stay at the office all night, come home at first light, shower, shave, a quick plate of eggs, a hug for Mom, and back at it again.

It was Saturday morning. I munched Sugar Pops. Chubby ate eggs. “Dad,” I said, with a curious face, “On weekdays, why don’t you sleep?”

Chubby peered up from his plate, eyes double big-big.

He said,

“Didn’t Mom tell you? I was born without eyelids.”

I stared into Dad’s pupils. No eyelids? Yeah, right!   

I’d call his bluff. A stare-off ensued. If Dad had no lids, neither did I! Chubby stared back with gigantic eyes. It was so fun! I stared back. He stared at me. Who would blink first?

But, with Dad, there had to be more. This was his way. Get my attention. Then mentor his son. Suddenly, Dad threw me a whopping big wink.

“Greg,” he said.

“It’s not about lids; it’s about getting ahead. I work when others are snug in their bed.

I don’t stay awake all through the night. I have a couch in my office, next to the wall. I work as late as I can. When I get tired, I take a short nap and hit it again. During the day, when my competitors work, I do the same. But that’s just keeping up.

Weekends with family, what does that leave? Nights at the office when you’re tucked in your bed. The key to getting ahead? Do what they don’t. Work when they won’t.

Remember ‘no eyelids.’ Now go knock ’em dead.”

(Dad had a way to make this stuff stick.)

my dad, my mentor

My dad Chubby relaxing

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