Let’s begin with Good Men
My father would recite this poem to anyone that would listen- I was often on the receiving end. He even recited it at my wedding, despite expecting to unload a pocketful of joke cards he kept in his tux (see above). In retrospect, it was the better move. And in quiet moments when I was troubled and trying to figure out next steps, we would take walks, or sit by the fire, or stay up late at night talking. And I would ask him about how I could be a better life partner, a better founder, a better father or son, a better brother, a better mentor. He would turn to me and say, listen son, and you’ll find the answer in here somewhere. And then he’d begin;
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
~~
BY RUDYARD KIPLING (‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)
I can hardly hear it without a tear.
