Bullshit. Show me.
I never got to meet my grandfather. He was assassinated in his hospital office 3 years before I was born. His killer was never found, and at this rate probably never will be.
When my dad was about 13, he was doing what kids that age do. I’ll spare the exact details, but it involved a heavy beverage coaster, a firecracker, and a hole in the ceiling of their front porch.
His mom, my grandma, told him to stay in his room until dad came home.
My dad explained how the damage happened and winced. Being the son of a Colonel seemed to bring on blackouts.
With every bit of gruff, Grampa said “Bullshit. Show me.”
My dad showed him with a new firecracker, and Grampa roared laughing. They shot coasters into the ceiling all night.
It was one of my dad’s favorite stories about his father. He didn’t share much, which was weird because my dad was an adamant storyteller. I hope to never know what it’s like to lose a parent, so violently, a week before Christmas. That’s a story for another day.
I have a few newspaper articles from my father’s house. From one of them, I learned that my grandfather was the VP of Patient Experience. From another I learned that he was also a health innovator, and had created a portable infusion pump for his patients receiving chemo. I remember attending a dedication ceremony of the MD Anderson Rose Wing when I was about 5. The atrium always brings a lump to my throat, with many mixed feelings.
I don’t share this experience lightly, many people I grew up with don’t know this story. But it has been sitting with me lately, in how I can honor what little I knew of him and bring that to light within my actions.
That means leading with curiosity, and understanding that being wrong is not a personal failing- it’s an exciting learning opportunity. Hell, it can even be fun.
So I will consistently call out bullshit when I smell it.
But I will also anxiously anticipate the gift of being wrong, and revel in the opportunity to build relationships when it happens.
Fred “Bud” Conrad, USAF