The Best Advice Ever

In lieu of attending my wedding on account of health reasons, my Grandpa Irwin sent me an email. In that email he wrote some words from his heart. Among those words was written some advice that I would later come to realize was the best advice I had ever gotten. They were words that would over time become etched into the very fabric of my being and shape the man I would become. Words that I would one day share with my children. Words that I would echo to so many others that I've crossed paths with and that they would eventually repeat back to me in the form of super convicting advice. But before I can tell you the advice you must first better understand the man behind the words.

Meet William Dutton. I know, I said it was my Grandpa Irwin who gave me the advice. It's the same guy. He was adopted. William, or Bill as he went by, was not exactly the most well-behaved kid growing up. His dad had left and his mom was struggling to raise him. At age 15 he was about to get thrown into reform school as a ward of the state but, as fate would have it, a merciful sheriff instead choose to give him a second chance and put him up for adoption. It was then that Bill was adopted by the Irwin's, hence the last name change. Three formative years would pass under their care before Bill enlisted in the service at age 18.

Out of the service, Bill quickly found work at IBM, learned how to program, and started his own data processing company called Midwest Data Control. This was when computers took up a whole room. He would go on to sell that company and jump between a handful of high profile positions in the budding industry of Computing Systems.

At some point during that career Bill tried his hand at higher education, majoring in poker and minoring in Pre-Med. He made it through 3 years Nursing school and may not have come out of it with a degree but did come out having found the love of his live, Marlene.

It is said that Bill would have parted the seas for Marlene. When I asked my mom and aunt what Bill and Marlene were like, it was as if I'd just reminded them of the fondest of all memories. Their eyes lit up and smiles began to take shape. I was quickly bombarded with a slew of stories that might as well have come out of some great novel or a fairy tale. Stories like how one time my Grandpa, out of an adrenaline rush of compassion, lifted a tractor off of a man who was pinned against a barn. Stories about how my Grandma once bolted out of the house to tend to some kids who had just crashed their car while hot-rodding down their street. The one theme that seemed consistent throughout was their extravagant love for each other and the people around them.

In the early 70s, Marlene was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS). Being a nurse, she had actually self-diagnosed herself in 1965 but doctors hadn't figured out how to officially diagnose it at that point. By the early 80s she was no longer able to get around. Bill made a decision to always care for her under his own roof as long as she had her mental faculties. And she never did lose her mind. In fact, quite the opposite. She was always happy. The nurses couldn't believe her temperament. People actually mistook her happiness for being heavily medicated.

My only memories of Grandma Irwin were seeing her in her hospital bed, smiling, in the back room of their Seward, Nebraska house with her two birds keeping her company. I remember her bed was situated in a room just off the kitchen which meant, with my Grandpa being an amazing cook, she had a front row sniff to every meal. The only problem was that she had to eat through a feeding tube and couldn't actually partake of the meals. Her response when asked about this dilemma? "It never really bothered me." Of course she would say that.

For years my Grandpa cared for her, bathed her, tended to her medical needs, and kept her company all by himself. He even deliberately moved himself and Grandma to Utah, further away from his kids, because he didn't want her care to be a burden to anyone except himself.

Marlene passed away on January 29, 1995 due to complications from a surgery. My Grandpa took care of her all those years by himself. This is the kind of love he was capable of. A sacrificial love that knew no limits and would do it all over again if given the chance.

So, now that you better understand the kind of man my Grandpa was, the advice he emailed me leading up to my wedding will make more sense. With out further ado, I give you the best advice I've ever be given:

"It's not as important to be right as it is to be loving and understanding at all times."

There you have it. Simple yet deeply profound and difficult to live out. I've learned that I mustn't let my concern about being right outweigh the relationships I have with the people around me. As much as I want to defend my point of view and prove I am right, it doesn't actually matter as much as having an authentic human connection with someone and understanding their point of view. They're more likely to come around to your way of thinking if they don't have their guard up anyways. This applies to my relationship with my wife, my children, my co-workers, my family, friends, acquaintances, even strangers. What good is there in winning an argument if in the process you lose the person? It's better to be falsely accused of being wrong and reconcile your relationships than to lash out and lay claim to empty satisfaction.

My Grandpa actually passed away three months before my wedding in 2005. At his memorial service, I brought with me a print out of the email where he wrote this advice and, through blurred vision, read those words once again to a room filled with his close friends and loved ones. That group of people, who were privileged enough to know Grandpa Irwin, knew better than any the truth behind the wisdom.