My Dad Changed My Life By How He Cleaned a Urinal

Gratitude for a lesson in pride, presence, and the dignity of doing your best.

My dad changed my life by how he cleaned a urinal.

He's 79 years old. He is as ethical and honest as the day is long.

He was born in 1946 into a large family, as was so common back then. During the war, his dad was gone for over four years with almost no contact back home. He came back profoundly changed, with injuries both physical and moral.

My grandfather was a carpenter by trade, until a workplace injury cut his career short. From that point forward, he wasn’t able to support his family. Most of the kids, including my dad, quit school to help support their family.

Poverty was a fact of life and they were known as the poorest family in the county.

With very little education and no financial resources, his career prospects were limited. He joined the military and spent twenty-five years as a military police officer. It was far from his ideal career, but it provided him the means and stability to raise his family.

He retired in his mid-forties with no high school diploma and very few transferrable skills. After fruitlessly looking for work in the civilian world, he took a minimum wage job as a janitor. He ended up working on the same military base, around the same people he’d worked alongside as an MP.

At the time, I was mortified on his behalf. Or, at least that’s what I told myself. The truth is, I was mortified on my own behalf. I was embarrassed that my dad had been reduced to cleaning toilets. I used to make up stories about what he did for a living.

I was eighteen years old and followed my dad’s footsteps by joining the military. I often spent time on the same base where he worked. I didn’t often cross paths with him and didn’t go out of my way to see him.

One day, I walked into the bathroom in uniform and there was my dad. His back was to me as he cleaned a urinal. I spent a moment watching him clean it with the same attention and care as a skilled tradesperson machining a part.

He sensed someone behind him but didn’t know it was me. He said, "Just a minute fellah, I'm just about done here." He said it with zero shame in his voice, I heard nothing but kindness and courtesy. He was a man, fully present, doing his work to the best of his ability.

I was overwhelmed with both pride and shame. Pride because my dad was doing his best work, regardless of how menial I found the task. And shame, because I realized what my judgements about my dad said about me and my own character.

Here was a man, who grew up in hardship that he made damn sure I never had to experience. As a self-centred teenager, I’d never bothered to empathize with his experience. I’d taken what he’d given me with a hell of a lot of entitlement and far too little gratitude. I’d never worked with even a sliver of the pride, care, or grit I was watching him give right in front of me.

I never, ever lied again about what my dad did for a living. When I talked about what he did, I always talked about how he did it.

My dad went on to finish high school taking part-time classes while working his full-time job. He tackled going back to school after 35 years the only way he knew how. By doing his best. He went to college and got a much better job (for him).

He’s long retired now and he and my mom live around the corner from me. They run a successful dog-walking business and their customers love them. I’d tell you why but by this point, I think you already know.

I think back to watching my dad clean that urinal often. He taught me one of the most important lessons in my life. Bring your full attention, care, and presence to every situation. Do your best, because how you do anything is how you do everything.

You’ll not only feel a sense of pride in a job well done. You also might change someone's life.

The best part? He didn’t teach me with words. He taught me by leading by example.

Thanks Dad. I love you and I’m proud of you.

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