Given the right context, young people are interested in understanding almost everything.

But they rarely ask for a lesson.

Why not?

Because they're intimidated OR simply don’t know the lessons they’re intended to learn. 

Mopping floors, sweeping meeting spaces, mowing and trimming aren’t necessarily my FAVORITE things to do at Lone Oak. I do a pretty good job at it, but I don’t do it because no one else can, or doesn’t, do it well enough. 

I do them because I’m a dad first—and these everyday tasks become powerful moments when my kids do them with me.

That’s what I shared with some friends when they asked why I was away from the office for a few hours this past week. 

I went on to explain, “I’ll always know my time in this role—as Dad—is very limited. So everything else comes after: evenings with “the guys,” hobbies, and yes, even some office work.

This week, I had a few of those moments.

Luke, my 13-year-old, helped me clean the Ballroom, our largest totally enclosed venue space, this past Sunday afternoon and between group check-in and check-outs. I explained that it would help other team members get a head start on their work this week. 

He swept while I mopped. I explained how much soap and water was needed in the bucket and how to work more efficiently by focusing on one area at a time. I pointed out that we could better communicate if he kept just one earbud out. He listened.

By the end of our time, he was solving problems, sweeping corners with extra care, and saving me steps. When we were setting up the space, afterward, with tables and chairs, he placed one green chair in a sea of white chairs. When I asked him to help me understand why the 1 green chair, he explained, “We’re out of white ones.” 

I asked him to think about where he’d been that day and if there were any additional white chairs we could use. He smiled, walked next door and grabbed 1 of the 90 extra chairs in storage. He knew we could improve the look and feel of the space with just a bit of extra work. We both smiled.

Later in the week, my younger son, Eli, joined me for some outdoor work. He wasn’t excited—it was hot, humid, and the uncut grass felt endless—but we pressed on. I walked him into the shop and through the safety features on the zero-turn mower. We checked the oil, the air filter, and filled it with gas.

We talked about letting it warm up and how to listen for anything that might not sound right. I told him that anything less than a B+ attitude with heavy equipment could “get someone hurt.”

He listened while his attitude began to change.

He wore his ear and eye protection, put on a hat and sunscreen, grabbed his water and asked a few more questions before heading into the field. Once he started, he paid special attention to the direction the grass was flying and what it might hit. He took pride in his work.

Neither of the boys are perfect. But that’s not the goal. What I’m after is time. Time to model being safe and attending to detail. How we can work hard, be a good listener, and learn something all the time. 

Ultimately, time to share an example to a future husband, father, employer, or employee. I believe character, and healthy values, can be shared in the simple things—like sweeping, mowing, trimming, and showing up when it’s not that comfortable.

None of it gets passed on if we’re constantly absorbed in screens, devices, our own self-interests, or chasing things that won’t authentically grow the next generation.

I’ve thought often about offering parent-child experiences or programs that mirror what I get to do with my own kids, regularly—something rooted in hands-on work, real conversation, and shared sweat equity. 

Some say kids aren’t interested in that anymore. I disagree.

Given the right context, young people are interested in understanding almost everything. But they rarely ask for a lesson. Why not? Because they are intimidated OR simply don’t know the lessons they’re intended to learn. 

So they wait for someone to offer it with sincerity—and when we do, they learn intently.

At the end of those long, sweaty days, both boys said the same thing:
“Best day ever.”

That’s the kind of return on investment no paycheck can offer.
That’s why a mop, a mower, and a moment will  always matter.

That’s why I’ll keep showing up—with them—as long as I can.

Remain encouraged,

Brian