Lasting Legacy Over a Lifetime

Last Friday, my dad retired after 42 years as a pharmacy professor.

The university held a beautiful retirement celebration in his honor, and one by one, colleagues, former students, and friends stood to share stories about how they met him, how he shaped their lives, and how deeply he will be missed in the professional world.

Most people never get the opportunity to hear testimonies about the impact they have had on others while they are still alive. Those words are often reserved for funerals, spoken after someone is gone. Watching my father sit in a room filled with generations of people whose lives he had touched was a gift - not only for him, but for me. It gave me a glimpse into a part of his life that I had never fully understood and helped bridge a gap that I didn't realize still existed.

My dad was gone a lot when I was growing up. His work required constant travel, and he missed many events throughout my childhood and adolescence. Yet despite his physical absence, he taught me lessons that have shaped who I am today.

Some of these lessons include striving for better, getting back up, passing it back, and loving one’s profession.

Strive for Better

Because I didn't see my dad often growing up, I always wanted to share good news whenever he was home. I wanted him to be proud of me.

One day in middle school, I made a 98 on a math test. I was thrilled. When my dad returned from a work trip, I eagerly showed him the test, expecting praise.

He looked at it and asked one question: "What were the two points you missed?"

At the time, that response stung. But it also made me want to do better. He saw potential where I saw accomplishment. He wanted me to recognize that there was always another level to reach, another opportunity to improve.

By the grace of God, that mindset turned into a love for learning - a love that carried me through college, law school, and sticks with me to this day.

My dad didn't always have the perfect words for every situation, but I never doubted his love for me. I knew he wanted the best for me, and because of that, I learned that good enough should never be the finish line. There is always room to strive for better.

Get Back Up

I had to have two surgeries when I younger. One at eleven and another at fourteen. My dad wasn't there for either one.

At the time, his absence hurt. I was scared, in pain, and wanted my father beside me. My mom assured me repeatedly that he loved me more than anything, but that he struggled to watch me suffer when there was nothing he could do to fix it.

As a child, those words brought little comfort. No explanation could fill the emptiness I felt. As an adult, I understand better.

The recovery from both surgeries was difficult, but the second one was especially hard. The recovery lasted several months, and somewhere along the way I slipped into a depression. I couldn't play tennis. I couldn't do many things independently. My world became smaller and smaller until most days were spent sitting on the couch watching television and simply existing.

When my dad returned from one of his trips during that recovery, he walked into the living room and asked if I wanted to go to Target. I told him no. He asked again. I said no again. After a few attempts, he finally looked at me and said, "Get up. You need to get out of the house. We're going to Target."

For reasons I still don't fully understand, my dad loved wandering through Target (especially the dollar section near the front) just to see what they had.

At fourteen years old, I was not thrilled about being forced into real clothes and dragged through Target. But now, years later, I see the moment differently.

My dad recognized that I was struggling. He may not have known how to talk about depression or emotional pain, but he knew I needed help. And in the only way he knew how, he reached for me. His solution wasn't a profound conversation or a grand gesture. It was Target.

I don't remember whether we bought anything that day, but I remember feeling better afterward than I did before. More importantly, I remember realizing that sometimes love doesn't look the way we expect it to. Sometimes it looks like an awkward father dragging his reluctant teenage daughter through Target because he doesn't know what else to do.

Passing It Back

At Texas A&M, "pass it back" is a cherished tradition and mantra. It means sharing what you've learned with those who come after you.

My dad never attended Texas A&M, and he never taught there, but he taught me what "passing it back" looks like long before I ever heard the phrase.

Throughout my childhood, my parents regularly hosted gatherings for my dad's graduate students. What began as academic discussions often turned into hours-long fireside chats.

As a kid, I simply enjoyed being around his students. As an adult, I realize I was receiving an education of my own.

I listened as my parents discussed world events, careers, relationships, and life's challenges. I watched them invest their time, wisdom, and energy into helping younger people navigate their futures.

Those fireside chats shaped me more than I realized at the time. They taught me how to think critically, how to lead, how to mentor, and how to care about the success of others.

Most importantly, they taught me that knowledge is not meant to be hoarded. It is meant to be shared. I learned what it means to pass it back long before I ever stepped foot in Aggieland.

Loving One’s Profession

Finally, my dad taught me what it means to love one’s profession.

At his retirement part, my father gave closing remarks, and one of the things he said was “People ask me how I’ve done the same thing for 42 years, and what I tell them is that I found something that I love doing and gets me out of bed every morning.”

As I sat in that room, surrounded by generations of students he had taught, mentored, and inspired, I began to understand the full weight of those words.

The people speaking that evening weren't simply talking about a professor. They were talking about a mentor, a guide, a leader, and a friend. They were talking about someone who helped build a field, advance a profession, and shape countless careers.

I watched person after person describe the impact my father had on their lives, and I realized I was witnessing something rare. I was witnessing a legacy.

For much of my childhood, I saw the sacrifices his career required. I saw the missed events, the empty seat, and the travel schedules. Last Friday, I finally saw the other side. I saw what all those trips, lectures, conferences, and late nights had produced.

I saw lives changed. I saw students become leaders. I saw a man who had spent four decades making the world better in the unique way God had called him to do so.

And I realized something else. My father's legacy is also my mother's legacy.

Without my mom, my dad could never have been the professor, mentor, consultant, and leader that he became. And without my dad, my mom could never have poured herself so completely into being the ever-present mother, mentor, and steady foundation of our family.

Together, they formed a partnership that changed lives. Not only in classrooms, boardrooms, and professional circles, but within the walls of our home.

Together, they changed the world outside our house. And, even more importantly, they changed the world inside it.