My son-in-law served in the Marine Corps, a tenure which included a tour of duty in Afghanistan. My youngest son also served in the military as a member of the Army Reserve. He is now a member of an elite security force that serves the Department of Energy. As you might imagine, the conversation at our family gatherings often centers around guns, military strategy, government inefficiency, politics, duty, honor and our individual places in the entire mix. One related topic that has always intrigued me is the idea of integrity and character development. I’ve heard more than one military mastermind pontificate on the subject.
There seem to be several schools of thought. One is that adversity builds character. Another is that the crucible of adversity doesn’t necessarily forge character, but rather it reveals it. I believe both to be true. From what I know of myself, and from what I’ve observed in others, who we are and who we become are definitely, at least in part, a product of our reactions to circumstances and events in our lives. As we evolve and learn to deal with whatever life throws at us, our true character is shaped and defined. Militarily speaking, the state of our true character is revealed when the fight shows up. Will we run toward it or away from it? My soldier sons and many like them have proven, literally and metaphorically, that they’re willing to run straight into the fight. Their courage, integrity and sense of doing the right thing, regardless of the personal perils, are the tenets that fuel the fire that commands their unwavering focus.
Every now and then, I’ll take a step back to take a look at myself to try and determine exactly where I may be on the personal integrity spectrum. Quite often, in those moments of introspection, I’m not really pleased with the results.
Early one summer evening, we were gathering and sorting through cows as we were preparing for turnout on the mountain. As I was saddling my horse and conversing with myself, I made a mental note that I’d make an honest effort to keep my language and my temper in check. I think I did pretty well for the first half-hour. After that, when everything seemed to hit the really big fan, my composure was left in shambles as it scattered in a million pieces into the wind.
As we got one bunch of cows gathered out of a 160-acre field, my sister, whose help I’d enlisted for the day, came trotting up to tell me that a heifer had her head stuck in a corner of the square tubing frame that was situated around the tire tank water trough meant to prevent the cows from climbing into the tank. Only after a long delay, a portable Sawzall and much profanity was I able to free the imbecilic heifer from her predicament.
Since I was now teetering on the edge anyway, it seemed to be the perfect time to sort some bulls out of the cows – a stress-inducing exercise on the best of days. It was a string of mini wrecks followed by a few minor catastrophes, but we were nearly done with the project when one knot-headed old rascal lowered his head and demolished two of the 12-foot panels that served as part of my makeshift bull pen. This, of course, blew my already-blistering temper right out the top of the volcano. I’m ashamed to say that the combination of cuss words I conjured up created a whole new profanity lexicon. It was not my finest moment. Of course the situation was not something that couldn’t be fixed, and it was one of those things that any hand worth his salt should expect and be prepared to deal with. At that moment, though, I wasn’t worth a pinch of Morton’s coarse kosher.
It wasn’t until well after dark that we got the whole project finished and the horses unsaddled and fed. And it wasn’t until hours after that, as I lay wide awake in bed, that I took stock of the evening’s events and my role in all of it. It was both a character-building and a character-revealing experience. Even though I ultimately met the challenge physically, in the emotional and intellectual realms, I had failed miserably. In the fight that really mattered most, I had taken the low road and had run like a coward.
The next day, as we trailed the cows through the brush of the foothills, and I thought of the previous day’s events, I was reminded of something I once read about John Wooden, the legendary UCLA basketball coach, whom I consider to be the greatest coach of all time. Speaking to a young man who was in the midst of a faith crisis, the ever-wise Wooden said, “Be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm.”
Be assured that, wherever you are, the storms will come. And if, when the first storm comes, you turn your back and run from the fight, all the while shaking your fist and cursing at the clouds, don’t give up the battle. Another storm will surely come. This time, however, you’ll be ready to not only face it but to run headlong into it – as the “good man” (or woman) that you truly want to be.
