Teachers
Eva helping me build our garden box, Spring 2020.
“Hold the flashlight so I can see down there.”
I was a teenager, and my Dad and Grandpa were deep into a repair on my future learner car, a 1987 Dodge Aries K. It was brown, had virtually no safety features, and my mother hated it, but it was a tank that got me around when I was 16.
“Matt, pay attention - shine the light over here,” said my father again, more gruffly this time.
I shivered as the cold November wind cut through my light flannel, which looked a lot like the one my Grandpa was wearing.
Truth be told, I was more focused on the fact that my fingers were losing circulation and turning white than what mechanical problem two elder generations of Van Wagenens were trying to figure out.
“Alright, that’s enough playing around for one night,” the two stated. Grandpa thanked me for holding the light, and we went inside for the evening.
This kind of thing happened to me often when I was young. I remember Dad toiling away in the garage, clearing the yard, cleaning something around the house, and trying to convince me to turn off Spongebob and leave the comfort of our living room to lend a hand with something. It was obviously important to him that I contribute to the household, and he had an intentional way with setting that expectation verbally.
Earlier in my childhood, I remember a Sunday trip with Dad and Grandpa to pick up a cord of wood to heat my grandparents’ home. While working through the pile of logs, Grandpa found a spent 20 Gauge shotgun shell and handed it to me as a souvenir.
I was in Kindergarten at the time, and at recess the next week I remembered the spent casing was in my jacket pocket. With pride, I showed a classmate of mine the bright yellow plastic and brass casing. You can guess what happened next.
“I’m telling!”
I was scared of getting in trouble, sure, but in hindsight I’d like to think I was more so angry that this kid was going to rat me out. His tattling could have torn away a treasure from my Grandpa that I’d earned by going with him and my father to take care of business.
Eventually, I did have to give it to my parents and never saw it again, but fortunately I never got in any real trouble. I was bummed though, to say the least. I guess that it paid off down the road though in the form of hundreds of hours of the Grandpa version of “show and tell,” where he let me handle his collection of firearms when I’d spend time visiting with him and my grandmother.
My paternal grandfather taught me many life skills - things like how to catch a bass, automotive basics, and how to drive an old 3-speed Ford pickup. He spent many hours doing so, patiently. He wanted me to know some of the life skills that he’d picked up over many decades, and he imparted many of those to me.
My mother’s father is a retired Priest, and I grew up serving mass and learning under his stern tutelage and loving care. I distinctly remember watching him don his vestments, perform his duties, time spent with him and Grandma in the rectory, and visiting with my them to learn about the arts, history, and our faith culture. He, like my Dad and other Grandpa, set the bar high for our behavior and ethics.
All 3 of these men have spent nearly three decades showing me what leadership looks like. At the time, I didn’t understand it, but my father was leading me away from comfort and the easy life and toward the values of effort and hard work. His father was teaching me about responsibility, how to care for what is mine, and look after my family’s wellbeing. His father in law was teaching me about my faith, academia, and acting like a gentleman.
What I’ve been learning is that these dozens of small experiences have added together to form my psyche, contributing to how I lead and follow within my own family, at work, and in my greater community. I find myself wanting to teach my fellow Airmen just as much as I enjoy sitting and learning from their own experiences, and I believe this was a value that I was taught in my youth.
As a father of two young children, I’ve found that it’s much easier to keep the kids on the sideline when completing a difficult task, but based on my upbringing, I see now how important it is to bring them into the experiences.
Right before Christmas, I was in my garage, sanding down the dining room bench I’d built my wife a year prior. In haste, I finished it before my deployment in the spring, but it didn’t turn out, and I had to painstakingly strip and refinish it.
Shortly after starting the project for the evening, I saw my three year old poke her head into my work area.
“Daddy, I’m going to watch you in the garage.”
I hate to admit it, but I remember internally groaning. I selfishly thought, “Gee, I’d rather you didn’t.” It would have been easy to shuffle my three year old back to her mother or to some other distraction. However, that wasn’t the right answer - it’s my responsibility to teach her, just like my elders have done for me. Plus I hit the jackpot, in a sense - she’s willing to watch and learn from me, her teacher.
“Alright Eva, you can sit in the chair and watch,” I said. “Just sit right there so I don’t get stain on you.”
I need to teach my children the value of hard work, to keep trying even when you fail, about God, about being decent, and then one day helping them teach their own kids about the important things in life.
-MJVW