The story (related by Bruce Larson) goes like this. I have a great friend down in Montgomery, Alabama, and a few years ago he told me an unforgettable story of a summer vacation he had planned for his wife and his children. He was unable to go himself because of business, but he helped them plan every day of a camping trip in the family station wagon.
He knew their route exactly and the precise time they would be crossing the Great Divide. So, my friend arranged to fly himself out to the nearest airport and hire a car and a driver to take him to a place which every car must pass. He sat by the road for several hours waiting for the sight of that familiar station wagon. When it came into view, he stepped out on the road and put his thumb out to hitchhike a ride with the family who assumed that he was 3000 miles away.
I said to him, “Coleman, I’m surprised that didn’t drive off the road in terror or drop dead of a heart attack. What an incredible story. Why did you go to all that trouble? “Well Bruce,” he said, “someday I’m going to be dead, and when that happens, I want my kids and my wife to say, ‘you know, Dad was a lot of fun.’”
Wow, I thought. Here is a man whose whole game plan is to make fun and happiness for other people. It made me wonder what my family will remember about me. I’m sure they will say, “Well. Dad was a nice guy but he sure worried a lot about putting out the lights and closing the windows and picking up around the house and cutting the grass.” But I’d also like them to be able to say that Dad was the guy who made life a lot of fun.
Dad, will your kids 5 or 30 years from now say, “Dad made life a lot of fun?”